


stand to the side

by burnsidesjulia



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, more like enemies to friends to enemies back to friends and so on so forth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9104218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnsidesjulia/pseuds/burnsidesjulia
Summary: When Aaron Burr receives his partner for a class assignment, he is less than happy. Alexander Hamilton, a scrappy immigrant freshman, comes with a reputation, a loud mouth, and more than anyone bargained for.





	1. aaron burr, sir

Washington clears his throat, paces back across the room. Papers shuffle on everyone’s desk. The tension in the room is thick enough to be cut with a knife. When Washington gets into this mood, it’s clear that he will be making some important points, and likely giving directions that will directly feed into the passing or failing of the class. Aaron has seen more than a few people who had taken the class with high hopes already have to drop it because they’d misstepped and ignored him during a moment like this.

“The purpose,” Washington begins, voice echoing off the rafters, “of psychology. Would anyone like to tell me what the main goal of this class is?” Several hands shoot up, but when Washington doesn’t call on them immediately and instead surveys them with a wary gaze, a few go back down. Aaron doesn’t worry. His hands stay securely on his desk the entire time.

“Miss Schuyler,” he calls finally, nodding towards a girl on the opposite side of the room to Aaron. “Please tell me what the purpose of psychology is.” Aaron follows Washington’s nod to Angelica Schuyler, someone he’s known for a long time. His second-hand anxiety almost diminishes. She’s likely to get it right. She beams, pushes her hair back over her shoulders. “The purpose is to understand, predict and potentially influence human behavior,” she answers confidently, her voice having the same commanding, ringing quality as Washington’s voice. Aaron nods to himself and lazily drags his pen over his notes, circling the place where he wrote the exact same thing. Washington shakes his head slightly, face tilted to the floor. “You’re quoting the text, Miss Schuyler,” he comments, tapping his heels loudly on the ground. “I would like to hear it in your own words.” Aaron turns back to her just in time to see her face fall, and her hands start fidgeting. She clears her throat, tugs her hair back over her shoulder so that she can toy with it. She doesn’t reply.

“Very well, then. Anyone else?” Washington starts looking over the room again, and as they come to his side of the room, a hand in front of Aaron shoots up so fast it almost takes his nose off. “The four key goals are to describe, explain, predict and change human behavior!” the person calls out, not even waiting to be called upon. His voice is much more grating than the Schuyler’s voice or Washington’s, and it makes Aaron cringe involuntarily. Even so, Washington’s face lifts up in what might be a smile on anyone else. “Very good, Seabury.” Aaron doesn’t miss Angelica’s shocked face at the approval of the answer. She turns to the girl next to her, angrily mouthing the words, _‘I said the same fucking thing_ ’. Aaron rolls his eyes, focuses back on Washington, who has resumed pacing. His heels hit the floor with loud, precise clicks that command the attention of everyone in the room. “Now, as you all know, I do not expect you all to be experts at these things. This is a learning environment, after all, and so I do not expect you to even do all four at once.” He pauses, meeting every student’s eye before continuing, louder than before. “But you must at least explain, describe, and predict human behaviors in the project which I am going to give you.” A groan rises from the very back of the class where the slackers sit, the ones who shouldn’t even be here if they’re going to be so ungrateful, Aaron thinks. Washington looks at them tiredly, like he’s considering calling them out, but does nothing. “You will work in groups of two to which I will assign you, to prove or disprove a common saying. Something like, ‘familiarity breeds contempt,’ or, ‘nice guys finish last.’” Aaron is scribbling down just as fast as he talks, but he isn’t focused. No one the class particularly interests him as a partner for this project. Plus, the very idea of having to take a hard stance on this and deliver an eloquent argument for it is already making him nervous. He’s never liked writing opinionated papers, it gives too much leeway. There’s never one right answer with those things. He keeps writing down Washington’s words.

“The sayings will likely vary between groups, but do not be surprised if more than one group receives the same one. If you and your partner disagree, it is up to you to decide how to tackle the project. You have until the first day back from winter break to have it finished. Late work will not be accepted in this case.” He picks up a stack of papers, straightens it against his desk with a few loud thuds. “I will hand out a paper copy of the assignment, and on it your partner will be listed along with your saying. Please do not complain to me if you don’t like your teammate, I cannot stress to you how little I care.” A murmur of what is very likely forced laughter spreads through the room, and Washington starts moving along the first row, laying a paper on each desk. “This will count as your final, please treat it in that way,” he thunders, his voice bouncing through the room. Aaron quickly scribbles down the word ‘final’ and underlines it a few times for emphasis before raising his head to watch the people ahead of him cautiously, waiting for one to turn and catch his eye. None of them do. Washington moves tortuously slow, as if to taunt Aaron on purpose. People are twisting in their chairs and making eye contact with their partners all around the room, but still no one meets his gaze. Aaron starts to actually wonder if Washington might have _forgotten_ him as he starts down his row. He ponders how to bring that up without sounding bothered or hurt by it when suddenly there is a loud screech echoing through the room as someone further down Aaron’s row of seats shoves their desk back and shoots out of their chair. Before Aaron can even turn his head toward the commotion, the very same someone is hurtling down the row towards him.

“Aaron Burr! Sir!”

All the words die on his tongue, and the air is knocked from his lungs as he recognizes the voice, because he already _knows_ that voice. Loud and obnoxious and significantly younger-sounding than everyone else in the room, it’s unmistakable as to who it is. The smacking footsteps stop almost as soon as they’ve started, and Aaron reluctantly raises his head to meet the dark eyes of the boy now standing in front of him.

“We’re partners!” the boy is already crying excitedly, settling into the empty chair on Aaron’s left. Aaron looks him over, his lips curled up into an expression that he hopes conveys some sort of distaste. The boy is scrawny, wrapped up in several layers of sweaters and jeans that are too big for him. Deep circles decorate the skin beneath his eyes, betraying his tiredness before he’s said more than ten words to Aaron. His legs are bouncing wildly and he makes direct, mildly unsettling eye contact as he waits for Aaron to respond. When he doesn’t, a wave of understanding sweeps over the boy’s face, and he springs back to his feet. “Oh, of course, I must introduce myself! I’m Alexander Hamilton, at your service, sir.” He grabs for Aaron’s hand with both of his and shakes it enthusiastically, up and down several times instead of one firm shake. Aaron barely suppresses a noise of displeasure as he hears the name. He already knows who Hamilton is. How could he not? There was, to put it bluntly, a huge controversy near the end of last year about whether or not he should be allowed to attend the college at all. He had only finished up to his sophomore year of high school, after all. In fact, he wasn’t even paying for his own tuition, his entire _town_ was, and they happily sent him on his way to New York to get a higher education. Some students were legitimately offended over the prospect of a seemingly unworthy boy being allowed in, arguing that they’d fought their entire lives to come to Princeton and that it was unfair. Aaron didn’t join in the protests when they happened. He could care less what another unimportant little freshman boy was doing at his school. He begins to regret his inaction as Hamilton keeps shaking his hand.

Administration had caved and let him in, he paid the tuition after all. He’s done well for himself, clearly, and here he is, sitting in a junior level psychology class as a freshman. And he’s still talking, it occurs to Aaron, still introducing himself and talking about how excited he is to be partnered with him, completely oblivious to Aaron’s disinterest. Aaron starts to understand exactly _why_ his entire hometown would want him shipped off.

“Hamilton, hush.” He rips his hand out of Hamilton’s and gestures towards Washington, who has resumed his place at the front of the room and is pacing again, still speaking. “And you must write and turn in your paper _with_ your partner if you intend to receive full credit. I will not accept two copies. Any questions?” Aaron groans. Washington has been speaking the entire time, too, and Hamilton’s giant mouth had prevented him from hearing it. Hamilton seems to have the same realization a moment later, and his eyes widen as Aaron’s hand rises. He scrambles out of his desk again and pulls Aaron’s arm back down with both of his hands and all his weight. Aaron doesn’t even have the chance to get out the first syllable of _‘what the actual fuck, Hamilton,’_ before the boy is whispering through his teeth at him. “Don’t do it. I don’t want Washington to think I’m incompetent, like I’m not paying attention. He has every right to drop me from this class.” He raises his eyebrows, barely manages to hide his smug smile. “It _is_ a junior level class, you know.”

“First of all, stop touching me,” Aaron hisses back, anger coiling at the back of his throat. Why is he already making it so hard to keep his cool? He bats Hamilton’s hands off of him. “And what do you expect to do about the assignment, then? We don’t know the details.” Hamilton rolls his eyes, crosses his arms loosely over his chest. “I’m sure it’s all covered in the packet. We’re both smart, right? We can figure it out. I’m not worried about it.” Aaron wants to strangle him. “You _should_ be worried. Like you just said, Washington can drop you at the slightest thing, and doing something like totally ignoring the instruction is more than a slight thing. It’s reckless, and furthermore-”

“Mister Burr, I don’t recall allowing you to speak over me when I’m giving instructions.” Aaron freezes, his back straightening away from Hamilton instinctively. He turns slowly to meet Washington’s steely gaze. The room is silent and waiting patiently for his reply. “My apologies, sir,” he offers finally, voice low and rumbling with shame. Washington keeps looking at him coldly, long enough for it to make Aaron’s skin prickle. After quite some time, what feels like years, Washington nods as a sign of acceptance and goes back to talking. Aaron’s face is burning. He can’t believe it. He rarely speaks in class at all, not unless he knows the answer for certain and that’s never likely in Washington’s class. The one time he is caught speaking, of course it is out of turn, and of course it is to the scrawny boy sitting next to him. Just his luck.

Hamilton is already tugging on his sleeve when he turns back to his desk, and Aaron shakes his head. He picks up his pen and resumes the calming task of copying down every word Washington is speaking. “Wait, Hamilton,” he mutters, moving his mouth as little as possible. "And for the love of Christ, talk _less_." Hamilton scoffs but lets go of Aaron’s shirt, sliding back into his chair and sinking low in it. “Good luck with that, Burr,” he replies, voice just as soft and quiet but somehow seeming so much louder.

-

Aaron leaves class quickly, as soon as it’s over, and he’s sure to leave out the side door rather than the main exit. He just wants to avoid any further contact with Washington, or especially Hamilton. He’s so hurried in leaving that he almost forgets the assignment. When he, luckily, remembers it, he grabs it so hastily that it winds up crumpled halfway in his hand, squeezed between his fingers tightly. He’s talked to Hamilton for maybe five minutes in his entire life, and already he’s making Aaron lose his mind a bit. He’s so _tired_ of the boy. He’ll be happy if they never have to interact again. 

“Aaron! Aaron, over here!”

Speak of the devil. Or think of him, at least.

“Don’t call me Aaron,” he responds before he even turns, and when he does Hamilton is a mere two feet away from him, face flushed from the cold and a smile on his face, both rows of his teeth out. His smile looks like a dog baring its teeth in warning. The look doesn’t even flicker as Aaron commands him harshly. He laughs instead, a real laugh that rings against the building behind them. “You sure have a lot of rules for me. _Don’t call me Aaron, don’t touch me_. Is there anything I _am_ allowed to do?”

“Those things are both common courtesy, Hamilton. It’s strange to call someone you don’t even know by their first name.” He takes a step back, puts more space between himself and Hamilton. “What do you want?”

“I want to discuss the project, Aar- Burr. We’ve only got a little more than a month, we need to get started as soon as possible.” Aaron sighs, tightens his grip on the paper. “Not tonight, Hamilton, I have work from other classes and most of my classes are tomorrow morning.” That's a blatant lie, but Aaron doesn't care. He's done with this strange little man for the night. He turns without allowing Hamilton to speak again, and shuffles along the icy lawn towards his dorm. 

“Hey!” He doesn’t turn his head at the noise, but knows very well that it means Hamilton has already ran and caught up with him. Aaron continues to ignore him. “What did you mean, I don’t know you?” Hamilton presses on, voice coming out in foggy puffs that float ahead of him. “Of course I know you!” Aaron pauses again at that, lets Hamilton step out in front of him and face him again. The rosy smile is gone, replaced with a furrowed brow and an overall expression that is dangerously close to a pout. He crosses his arms again. “You’re like. A legend.”

“What was that?” Aaron laughs, his own arms crossing. He’s interested now, but the reaction seems to upset Hamilton more. “Oh, come on. You got into one of the most prestigious colleges in North America at fifteen and a half, Burr. Don’t act like you don’t know that people talk.” Aaron scoffs and waves it away, but Hamilton presses on. “You did what I wanted to do. It’s incredible, and it’s not something you should be so hush-hush about. You’re a genius, you should act like it.”

Aaron shakes his head. “While that’s all true, it doesn’t make me a legend, Hamilton, or even a genius. I’m not getting by easily by any means. I work hard to do what I do.” The grin comes back onto Hamilton’s face almost immediately, and it leaves Aaron wondering if he said the right thing or not. He worries about that a lot, and this Hamilton boy is making it worse. He nods vigorously. “See, I like working hard, too! We’re not so different, Burr. Maybe that explains why you dislike me so much.”

“I never said I don’t like you, so stop putting words in my mouth.” Aaron takes another step back. Hamilton had gotten too close while he was talking, again. “And what is that even supposed to mean?” Hamilton tries to raise one eyebrow but fails, both shooting up despite his best efforts. He stares at Aaron like he’s stupid for a moment, and then he gets that look in his eyes as he has another realization. “Oh my god. You haven’t even looked at our assignment yet, have you?”

 _Right_. Aaron hasn’t so much as _thought_ about the assignment, actually, not since stepping outside of the classroom. Admitting that would be worse than just staring dumbly back at him, though, so he settles for that. He feels his face getting hot again. He lifts his paper and smooths it out over his knee, reading over the hastily scrawled pen. Washington has messy handwriting as it is, but holding the sheet squeezed so tightly in his fist smudged the ink around and made it even harder to read. Still, he can make out the place along the top where Hamilton’s name is written in beside the word ‘partner,’ and then under that, their saying. He squints at it, trying to piece together the letters. He’s gotten only a few letters in when Hamilton swipes the paper from him, holding it out in front of himself. “Woah, you smudged the living fuck out of this paper,” he exclaims, stating the obvious as he seems to do quite frequently. “You can barely even read it anymore.” Hamilton squints uselessly at the paper too, then makes a noise in the back of his throat. He shoves the paper back into Aaron’s chest, and it falls through his arms, fluttering gently to the ground. Hamilton’s hands are busy scrambling for his back pocket. He pulls out his own paper, neatly folded into four squares and hands that to Aaron, too. “Here. Look at mine.” Aaron thanks him, feeling strange that even after how much annoyance he’s caused Aaron, Hamilton is still being polite. He unfolds the paper carefully, this time directing his eyes right to where Washington wrote in their topic.

_Saying: Opposites attract._

“Oh.” That’s all he says as he hands the paper back to Hamilton, who folds it back up and slides it into his front pocket this time. Hamilton is smiling again, his arms crossed only for warmth now. It takes Aaron a moment to add up the previous conversation along with the saying, and then he finds his own expression darkening. “Wait, Hamilton, no. Let me assure you that we are nothing alike.”

Hamilton’s smile falters again. Aaron almost feels bad, and then the boy is stepping forward again, getting in his face to argue. Dear god, here we go again.

“ _What_? We are too alike.” He tries to stop shivering to make himself look tougher, uncrossing his arms, but it only serves to make his teeth chatter. The sun is sinking lower and lower in the sky, and it’s only getting colder. Really, Aaron should go back to his dorm. He doesn’t. “I mean, Hamilton, you and I have little to nothing in common.” He thinks to tack on all the things he can already tell are different between the two; Hamilton is loud, annoying, has a bad temper and no patience whatsoever. He doesn’t say that, either.

“Well, fine.” Hamilton’s crossed arms tighten, and he straightens his back up so he’s at his full height. His feet plant into the ground firmly, and his jaw sets back into place. “Fine. Why don’t you tell me then, mister prodigy, how’d you get into college? If it wasn’t your brain? _I_ got in because of _my_ brain. Let’s see what makes you so different.”

Aaron considers this. Hamilton is, well. He's almost right. He did get in mostly for his brain, and he _was_ a prodigy, but it wasn’t the only reason. Hamilton didn’t get in because he was poor. Aaron did because he wasn’t. Well, that, and because-

“Do you really want to know, Hamilton? Really?” He crosses his own arms, shivers once. It’s still getting colder. Frost has started to form in the condensation at the edge of Aaron’s boots. Hamilton keeps staring at him, gaze cold and calm. His face is red from the biting wind and anger alike. Aaron shuffles his feet around and changes position to keep from freezing. “Fine. I got in because it was my parent’s final wish before they died.”

The silence that stretches between them is long and unforgiving. The clouds of breath from Aaron’s last sentence hang still in the air, and nothing comes along to disturb them. Aaron had intended his words to have this effect, to freeze Hamilton in his tracks, but the results just unsettle him. Hamilton is strange when his mouth isn’t flying at a mile a minute. Above them, the building’s outside lights flick on. That means it must be 7:00pm. Aaron should head back to the dorms.

Finally, after the words have had time to settle through the empty air, Hamilton’s lips flicks up into a smile, his mouth unopening. He is the one to step back now, allowing more distance between the two and giving a small nod. “Of course.” His smile gets wider, and Aaron feels his eyes narrow. “Excuse me?” he asks, voice deadly calm, and Hamilton flinches at the tone for just a moment. He straightens himself back up and stares at Aaron for a long time like that. When Aaron has finally had enough of waiting for him, he raises his eyebrows in a silent motion for him to continue. Hamilton starts to move back in again. He goes slowly, like an animal stalking its prey. He raises his own eyebrows.

“I’m an orphan too, Burr.”

Aaron turns away and starts walking.

He’s been trodding along for several minutes, shivering through the cold, when he realizes he left his assignment sheet lying in the frosty grass back in front of the Psych building. Aaron stops, considers his options. He’ll need the paper one way or another, even if he won’t work on it tonight. He wants to _scream_. He turns back towards the direction he came but doesn’t walk, just stares. It’s unlikely that Hamilton will still be there, he supposes. And already he’s cooled down a bit from their argument. He’s still a little upset that Hamilton irked him to the point of revealing something so personal about himself, but it likely doesn’t matter. Hamilton is already so prone to sharing information about himself, he probably doesn’t care about Aaron and his dead parents in the slightest. Hamilton seemed much more concerned with Aaron’s brain. In fact, the boy didn’t seem too moved at all, more interested in giving Aaron more of his own backstory, as if he didn’t know enough already. For some reason, that actually upsets Aaron more. Whatever. The kid is weird. No good can come of stressing over it, anyhow, he decides. He shakes it off, starts walking back.

Aaron makes it back quickly, walking fast to keep his toes from going numb. He spots his paper right away, glowing with ice crystals and shimmering in the yellow light of the building. He lets out a sigh of relief, grabs it up and tries to swipe away the ice without entirely ruining the paper. When he’s finished, he tucks it into his coat pocket and stands still for a moment. Campus at night is soft and calming, just what Aaron needs after his first forced interaction with Hamilton. He takes in deep breaths of the cool air, his shoulders shaking involuntarily to try and stave off the chill in the night air.

“Cold enough for you, Burr?”

Aaron jumps nearly out of his skin as Hamilton walks out of the shadows, arms still crossed like before. He shakes his head. “I knew you were forgetting something when you left,” he says casually, gesturing towards the pocket Aaron put his paper in. He smiles tauntingly. “Maybe I should’ve told you.” Hamilton hops off the top step of the building to the ground, landing hard a few feet away from Aaron. Aaron takes a wide step back. “Don’t you have better places to be?” he asks sharply, narrowing his eyes. Hamilton doesn’t respond, only steps up to shorten the gap again. “Why’d you leave so fast? I was finally getting somewhere with you.” Aaron meets his eyes, wants to swear at him, but honestly is tired of it now. He’s argued enough for the night. “You creep me out, Hamilton,” he settles eventually, hand running absently over the paper in his pocket. Hamilton grins, his teeth glowing white through the dark. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Burr.” He slaps Aaron on the back, squeezes his shoulder roughly, like he’s already decided that they'll be good friends. Aaron scoffs, shaking him off and leaving before Hamilton can notice that he’s faking the shivering to get him to stop touching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...here it is. it's a college au. it's a slowburn. hamilton is loud, sad, and very annoying.
> 
> will this be updated quickly? no. do i already have 100k words written of it? yes. it's happening folks. here it comes.
> 
> tumblr is @schuyburr. ask me about this story. i want to talk about it. i have Ideas


	2. the issue on the table

Aaron is late to their meeting at the library. He wouldn’t say it’s on purpose, but it probably is. He’s already been at class all day, he’s already tired out, and he really doesn’t want to see Hamilton. He doesn’t want to sit with him and look over textbooks with him or work with him at all. He’s had a grand total of two conversations with Hamilton, three if you count his creeping on the steps, and he’s already exhausted by him. Hamilton is full of nervous energy, it seems, constantly bouncing and fidgeting and seeking out an argument. He is smart, Aaron can tell, but he can’t shut his mouth well enough for it to matter. Aaron hopes that the calmer setting will help to combat that.

“Aaron Burr, sir! Would you look at that, fifteen minutes late. Is punctuality not one of our rules?”

His hopes are shattered.

“A simple ‘hello’ would have sufficed,” he mutters, more to himself than to the boy at the table in front of him. Hamilton smiles and replies anyway, clearly not understanding the concept of 'rhetorical'. “Oh, of course, how rude of me.” He clears his throat exaggeratedly, throws his arms open. “Aaron Burr! Hello! How is His Royal Highness on this fine evening?” Aaron is just about ready to turn and leave. Instead, he sets his bag down on the table coolly and raises his hands to his hips. He’s already had nearly enough of the boy for a day. He wonders how they will ever get the project done.

“Hamilton, you _must_ be quiet. Some people actually come to the library to relax, you know.” He plants one hand on the table, leaning forward to whisper to him. Hamilton scoffs, quieter, but still decidedly too loud. “I was born without an inside voice, Burr. Please respect that.” He pulls back the chair beside him, pats it with one hand and beckons Aaron over with the other. Aaron furrows his brows in downright contempt for the boy in front of him but does as he suggests anyway, and sits in front of the otherwise empty table that Hamilton had claimed. He has dozens of books already spread out on the table, some open or with dog-eared pages, some highlighted and filled with notes in the margins. Aaron whistles quietly, eyes roaming over the wide selection. “Are these all yours?”

“Most of them,” Hamilton beams back, and he seems legitimately proud of the fact. “Some are from the psychology section of the library, but I own a bunch too. I’m really interested in this stuff, even outside of class. My mom used to read about it with me.” He stops abruptly as he mentions his mother and outright flinches. Aaron is shocked for just a moment, thinks to comfort him even, when suddenly Hamilton’s mouth is firing off again. “Luckily, Washington gave us a saying with tons of support for it. It’s super easy to prove, it’s in most of these books, and look, I even highlighted it right here. And here, too, I guess I was looking for it already. Oh, get this Burr, look what I wrote under this one--”

“Hamilton, _wait_. Hold on.” Aaron raises his hand to his face, pinches at the furrow between his brows. Once again, the boy has already exhausted him, spoken as many words in three minutes as would be necessary in ten. “Prove it?” Hamilton frowns, his head tilting slightly to the side. “Yes, prove it. Why do you ask?” Aaron frowns back at him. “You can’t tell me you actually _agree_ with that bullshit opposites attract thing,” he says sharply, shaking his head. He realizes what he’s said a moment too late, and when he goes to correct himself Hamilton’s eyes are already widening. “Of course I do, Burr. Like I said, it’s entirely backed up.”

“Backed up, maybe, but it’s not necessarily _true_ , Hamilton.” He pauses, thinks over what he’s saying. If he’s to take a hard stance on this, one that opposes his partner’s, it will only serve to make it that much harder to write their report. He really wants to get this over with before Christmas break, so he won’t have to see Hamilton through it. In fact, he’ll be more than happy if they could finish it before Thanksgiving break in a week. However, Aaron knows Hamilton won’t budge on his own thoughts, he seemingly has a one-track mind and will keep pounding his own views in long past the point of breaching the surface. It doesn’t matter, in this case, what Aaron thinks. This means he can keep quiet if he wants. He considers his next words carefully. “It’s… entirely subjective. People don’t know themselves or others well enough to give fully informed answers. The testing pool is biased.”

“Well by that logic, all things are untestable. I guess we just can’t tell how many people are gay or not because people don’t know themselves well enough to tell.” Hamilton’s voice has gone huffy, and the red dancing on his face can’t just be from the cold this time. Trying to take an indefinite position on this clearly won’t work against Hamilton. Still, Aaron takes a moment to admire the fact that he seems to bother Hamilton just as much as Hamilton bothers him. It’s some slight relief to know that. “That’s not what I’m saying and you know that.” He has to pause again to take a breather, to diminish some of his anger at Hamilton purposefully misinterpreting him, to make him look like the villain. He counts backwards from ten in his head in an attempt to calm himself. The attempt goes poorly. “I mean, so many people _believe_ that opposites attract that they might lie to fit the stereotype. What I’m saying is that most often, if someone is perfectly matched with their significant other, be they platonic or romantic, it’s likely because they function on the same level.” He raises a finger to tap at the side of his head. “It’s about brain chemistry, Hamilton. It’s about the way the human mind works.”

“For someone who just yesterday seemed so opposed to talking a lot, Burr, you certainly talk a lot.” Hamilton sinks back in his chair, arms crossed sulkily over his chest. It’s repeated body language, a movement which again betrays his anger. Aaron wonders briefly if he could use Hamilton and his moody arm-crossing as the topic for his _next_ paper in psychology. Hamilton stays like that for a moment, glaring daggers back at Aaron. When it elicits no response, he shoots back up and slams his hands on the table, loud enough to have several other library-goers turning their way. “What you’re _saying_ , Aaron, is absolute horse shit. There is always the possibility of a lying person in the sample. That’s part of the experiment itself.” He shakes his head, scans the table for a second before jabbing at one of the open books with his index finger. “And, if you’ll read right here-” he punctuates each word with another stab at the paragraph in question, which has been highlighted to hell and back “-the test has been done with polygraphs and gave the same conclusions. So you can shove it up your ass.”

“Don’t call me Aaron,” Aaron reminds absently, entirely ignoring Hamilton’s final rude comment. This serves to piss Hamilton off more, and he snaps the book shut on his own hand in protest. Aaron ignores the motion and continues. “And what _you’re_ saying, Hamilton, holds very little relevance to the topic, anyway. If you want to prove the theory, you have to give precise, concrete evidence. Telling me to shove it up my ass doesn’t qualify.”

“First of all, fuck you, Burr.” He ticks his points off on his fingers, looking down at them rather than meeting Aaron’s gaze. “And secondly, here’s your precise evidence- _magnets_. If opposites don’t attract, then how exactly do magnets work?”

“That’s off topic again. Hamilton, we are talking about _human_ attraction. The magnetism between a north and south pole versus the, ahem, _‘magnetism’_ between, say, a messy person and a neat freak, are nothing alike.” Hamilton stares at him for a long moment, too much emotion to decipher swirling in his dark eyes, and then he raises his hand to his mouth. He makes sharp, steely eye contact as he presses his hand in tight to his lips and exhales, making a loud fart noise against his skin. Aaron rolls his eyes for possibly the millionth time that day. “Mature. Please, tell me again how we’re so alike.”

“No, Burr, I’ll tell you this instead. If you want to disagree with me, want to think it isn’t true, be my guest. But don’t act like I’m not making valid points. I know how you are with rules, so let me make one of my own. If there’s one thing you never want to do to me, it’s to treat me like I’m stupid. Because I’m not stupid.” His voice has gotten deathly serious, and he’s leaned in too close again. Aaron resists the urge to shift back in his chair, to move away from the boy. When Hamilton gets intense like this, it makes him extremely uncomfortable, but he figures it will do no him good to let him know that. He stays where he is.

“Understood,” he says tightly, and Hamilton stays sharp and close to him. His mouth is curling up into what would be best described as a snarl. Aaron clears his throat. “And once again, you’re putting words in my mouth.” Aaron breaks the silence with an overly snarky tone, and Hamilton finally draws back of his own accord, eyes hardening again. Aaron breathes a sigh of relief. “I never said that it wasn’t true.” Hamilton blows a loose strand of hair out of his face, rolling his eyes up to watch it hover above him. “Yes, but you never said it _was_.” Aaron nods. He's almost proud of Hamilton for figuring that one out. “Exactly.”

“Christ, Burr. You’re more flighty than a pigeon in a hurricane.” He doesn’t cringe as he speaks this time, but there is a barely perceptible twitch below his left eye. Aaron recognizes the body language already, Hamilton is really too easy to read. He’s said something to upset himself again.

“Not flighty, only cautious,” Aaron replies, voice still calm and unwavering. Hamilton huffs and his shoulders drop. He adjusts his position, slumps over to let his head rest flat on the table. “So what do we do now? If you won’t pick a side, I mean.” His voice is strange from his cheek pressing into the table, but it’s definitely less agitated. Aaron rolls his eyes so hard he sees stars at the top of his vision. “Washington didn’t specify that we’d have to take a side at all, Hamilton. He only said that we’d need to handle the disagreement in our own way.” Hamilton laughs, the sound sharp and short. “Alright. May I suggest a way to handle it?” Aaron nods down at him, drumming his fingers on the table. “Shoot.”

“I say you-” he lifts both hands to point finger guns at Aaron “-toughen the fuck up and pick a side, and we can go from there.” He throws his arms out above him and into a grand shrug. “Thoughts?” Aaron doesn’t even breathe a sigh at the other boy. It would be wasted breath, he decides. “Hamilton, I’m not going to take a side in something that doesn’t require a side be taken. We can write our paper about why it _may_ be true, but the why actual results of these tests may be biased.” Hamilton responds with a huff of breath and something likely vulgar mumbled underneath it. Aaron ignores him again. “There, see? That way, we both win.”

“A compromise is not _winning_ , mister Burr, sir,” Hamilton says crossly, his voice a surprisingly good echo of Washington’s disapproving tone. He sits back up, eyes narrowed at Aaron. “Just choose something. I don’t even care if it’s opposing the statement, even though you’d be wrong if it was.” He rubs his face with both hands, shakes his head. Aaron is unhappy to find Hamilton’s words actually upsetting him. He has no right to sound so absolutely _disappointed_ that Aaron won’t pick a side. In the same regards, Aaron has no business being upset by it, but, that's beside the point. Hamilton will get his way, one way or another. Aaron doesn’t understand the anger, but he feels his own curling on the back of his tongue regardless. He stands from the table, shoving his chair back. “I’m not going to debate this with you if you won’t be civil, Hamilton.”

“You’re not debating at all, Burr. You’re just trying to make everyone happy. You can’t make everyone happy if you want to get anything done.” He looks Aaron up and down, his deep eyes gleaming thoughtfully. “I like the anger, though. Shows that you have some fire in you after all.” Aaron doesn’t respond again, just turns his head away. He won’t entertain Hamilton’s childishness. He _won’t._

“At least _respond_ to me, Aaron. You can’t be so fickle that you won’t even have a normal conversation with me.” Aaron stares down the row of books next to the table. He doesn’t even flinch as Hamilton eggs him on. “Fine. If you won’t speak to me like I’m an equal, treat me like you see me. Like I’m less than you. Because I am, right?” Aaron feels himself balk slightly at this new invitation. Where did Hamilton get the idea that he sees him as a lesser? Has he been giving off that feeling? Aaron doubts himself for a moment before catching himself and snapping out of it. He thinks he might hate Hamilton for doing that, pushing him so hard that he questions himself. Beside him, Hamilton presses onward. “Please, feel free, hurt my feelings. What’ll you do? Call me a bastard? An immigrant? What’s the worst you can give me, Burr?” Aaron feels his hands clench up involuntarily. He has heard far more than he needs.

“That’s _enough_ , Hamilton.” Aaron is the one to slap his hand down on the table this time, and it has the intended effect. Hamilton’s mouth stays hung open, but the noise stops coming out. His eyebrows raise and he stays quiet. Aaron straightens his back, clears his throat. Something is biting at the back of his throat, threatening to choke him up but he presses on and ignores it. Something about the way he outright _asks_ to be insulted unsettles Aaron, and he doesn’t want any part in that. “You have no idea about me or the person I am. You have absolutely no right.” He straightens his coat out with a harsh tug. “I won’t call you names. I won’t engage in this foolishness. And I certainly won’t give a shit about _your_ grade if you’re going to act like a child and refuse to work _with_ me.” Aaron neglects to mention that this is his own grade, too, but he doesn't care about that right now. He shakes his head, the pressure in his throat spreading to the place behind his eyes and getting tighter. It hits him almost ridiculously late that the feeling is tears building up behind the anger. Aaron is an angry crier, he knows he is, but the fact that right now he wants to cry more than he wants to be angry at Hamilton upsets him even further. He keeps going on. “You can speak to me when you’re ready to talk this out like adults, Alexander.” He shoves his chair back further with his hip and makes his way around the table once he makes certain that he has his bag and everything in it. He won’t be caught in the assignment situation again.

“Aaron, wait.” Aaron pivots around on the spot, his face burning up with suppressed anger and tears. “For the last time, _do not call me-_ ”

“I’m sorry, Burr. Really. I didn’t mean it.” He has his hands up in surrender. Hamilton’s voice has softened again, his face warmer, and more legitimate emotion shows in it than Aaron has ever seen even a flicker of. It’s enough to give him pause, and Hamilton notices. He nods, like the moment that Aaron hesitated was enough to give him a burst of confidence. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry,” he continues, and his face stays sweet. Aaron is almost inclined to believe him. “I talk a lot, Aaron. I like to argue. You’ll have to forgive me.” Aaron doesn’t even bother telling Hamilton not to call him that. With that look in his eyes, it seems he already knows.

Hamilton licks his lips, eyeing Aaron as if trying to read him. “And- Well. You called me by my first name.” His devilish, evil smile returns, easily overthrowing the soft look that had momentarily put Aaron into a trance. Hamilton looks like himself again, meaning he looks obnoxious and overall, like a bother. Aaron regrets his hesitation and wishes he’d left before Hamilton pointed out the slip. So he did call him by his first name. It doesn’t matter, really, but Hamilton’s grin says that he thinks otherwise. Aaron shrugs. “It’s your name, Hamilton. We’ve been introduced. There’s nothing strange about it.” Aaron is painfully aware of how stupid he sounds saying it. After all, he’s spent their entire time together reminding the boy not to call him by his own first name. After all, he gets a strange floating feeling in his stomach every time Hamilton uses his name anyway. He makes a mental note to never do it again.

“Well. You didn’t call me by my first name before.” Hamilton scoots closer into the table, resting his elbows on its surface. When he’s settled into position, he gazes up at Aaron, some new sort of intensity in his eyes. “So what does that mean?”

Aaron growls and turns away from the table without accepting his apology. He’s only thankful that this time, Hamilton neglected to proposition him with further plans to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor burr. no one is safe from hamilton's wrath
> 
> the next chapter gets a whole lot longer, a whole lot angstier, and a whole lot gayer. stay tuned!
> 
> once again, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. if you really wanna know the way to my heart, though, hit me up on tumblr @schuyburr and ask me things about this story!!


	3. a mind at work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> make sure to read the notes at the end of this chapter! thank u in advance!

“Have you considered challenging him to a duel? You know, an affair of honor?”

Aaron looks up from the cake in front of him warily. “Please tell me you’re joking.” Theodosia smiles back, her nose crinkling in the middle. “Almost.” He shakes his head, setting his piping bag down on the counter and turning towards her. “Know that I’d be holding my palm to my face to show dismay if I wasn’t covered in blue frosting.”

“Hm, yeah, good choice. That shit stains, Aaron.” She sighs, throwing herself down into one of the chairs beside the counter. “He seems like he’s trying to impress you, honestly. Like he said, you did what he wanted to do, successfully. He’s almost like your fan.” Aaron laughs shortly, the sound coming out more like a cough. “Yeah right. He just wanted to piss me off and make me insult him.” She stares intently at her hand as she flicks the tip of every nail off the pad of her thumb with a slow, calculated focus. “He’s a weird kid, yeah. But I think he’s trying, Aaron, give him a chance.” She lets out a little laugh at nothing in particular, and then she’s looking up at Aaron again. “Actually, I think it’s kinda cute.”

“Well, he annoys the crap out of me,” Aaron huffs, rubbing his frosting covered fingers together through his gloves. “And I’m done talking about him _because_ he annoys the crap out of me and this place is supposed to be my safe haven.” Theodosia’s eyebrows crease together, but she doesn’t argue. Aaron watches her, shaking his head and continuing to smudge his fingers against each other. “I’m gonna need to get this off before I can work on anything else. You mind watching the front for a minute?”

“I gotcha,” Theodosia replies, snapping her fingers back at Aaron. She pops back onto her feet, her ponytail bouncing on top of her head, and steps back up to the counter. “We also have a few trays of cookies in the back oven, get those for me?” she calls back to him as he pushes the door open with his shoulder, careful to not get frosting everywhere. Aaron nods, gives her a thumbs up without turning around. She snaps again, acknowledgement that she’s gotten his message. “Thanks, sweetheart!” The door swings closed and muffles the soft music from the front of the bakery.

The back room is calmer even, gives him time to clear his mind as he peels off the gloves. Work is fairly relaxing in general; Aaron likes his job, likes baking and decorating and is particularly fond of the handwriting he’d developed for writing atop cakes. He’s lucky to have an escape like this place, he knows, and Theodosia’s presence in the shop only furthers that comfort. She’s pretty and sweet and witty, sharp as a tack, in fact, overall a joy to be around. Aaron considers her his closest friend, at least tied with Bellamy. But the moment she started talking about Hamilton, and how she thinks his annoyingness and his short temper are cute, Aaron wanted an excuse from the conversation. He runs his hands under the faucet, scrubbing at the blue-tinged skin of his fingertips. Already, it feels like he’s been watching after Hamilton for years, trying to keep his mouth shut and out of hot water. The boy is, for lack of a better word, exhausting, even when he’s not around.

“Aaron! You check on the cookies yet?” Aaron is snapped back to attention at Theodosia’s voice from the front. “Ah, shit,” he mumbles under his breath, turning the tap off and flicking the water off of his hands hastily, rushing around to find some sort of oven mitt. The room is kept in a sort of organized mess, so it doesn’t take him terribly long to find a stray potholder and pull the trays out of the oven. Unfortunately, he’s a little too late and all the edges have turned a shade between brown and black, and they seem overly crisp. He kicks himself for it.

“They burned a bit,” he calls back, and almost immediately the door is swinging open for Theodosia to poke her head in. She scans over the trays and rolls her eyes when she sees the damage, waving it away. “No biggie, they aren’t that bad. Thanks, Aaron. You never let me down.” Aaron smiles back at her. “Thanks. You still wanna set these out, or want me to make another batch?” He turns his back to her again, pulling on a new pair of gloves. Theodosia shakes her head. “Go ahead and take a few of ‘em out front. I’m taking my break starting _riiiiight-_ ” she holds a finger up and looks to the clock on the wall, waiting. “Now!” She storms the rest of the way into the room and plops down into a chair, arms folding gracefully behind her head. “Let me know if you need me, Aaron. You know where I’ll be.” Aaron nods, gives his gloves a final tug onto his hands. “Yeah. Thanks, Theo.” She closes her eyes and tosses her hand over them, humming in response. He slides the trays onto a cart and starts out the door when she coughs at him. “Oh, and Aaron?” He pauses, one foot out the door. “Yeah?”

“Don’t let this Hamilton thing bother you too much. It’s not worth worrying your brilliant little mind over.” Aaron snorts at her before he can stop himself, and she sits back up, one eyebrow cocked dangerously. “Really?” she asks, her voice challenging. She tilts her chin up and gazes down her nose at him, the whole nine yards, and there’s no going back now. He nods slightly, and she is the one to laugh at him now. “I’m being serious. This assignment will be done with before you know it, and you’ll never have to deal with the dude again. Unless you want to.” She tilts her head forward again and waggles her eyebrows, a talent Aaron is jealous of. He almost gives another half-suppressed laugh, but manages to keep it down this time. “I’ll never want to, Theodosia, let me assure you of that.” She holds eye contact with him for a long moment before he shakes his head at her. “I’m establishing a strict _'no-Hamilton’_ rule in this building. I’m don’t want to talk about him. I’m trying to have a nice day. I have to deal with him enough in class.” Theodosia lets out a deep breath and rolls her eyes, closes them again. “Alright. Whatever you say.” She covers her face again.

Theodosia raises the hand not over her face, waves him away. “Go man the store. I’m counting on you.” Aaron frowns, but doesn’t voice his complaints with the entire statement she’s making about Hamilton. He pushes the cart through the door.

He parks the cart in front of the display case, slides open the glass door and starts stacking the cookies in spirals on the frilly plates. The repetitiveness of the action is calming, and he focuses on that. He turns them to make them look the best as he can, tries to hide the burnt edges on the cookies. When he’s gotten most of them out, he replaces the samples on the counter, wipes the glass clean, sweeps the floor. Mid-day shifts are the most dead in a college town, and Aaron appreciates the peace. He likes customers, too, likes having short, friendly interactions that he never has to think of again afterwards. Really, it’s the lack of complication that he likes. He stays standing despite the slow business, waiting patiently. His patience is one of his prouder talents, after all. He walks around the counter to examine the setup from the front. He sighs. While his cookie arrangement had almost worked to perfection, a few particularly burnt edges still show through at the front. He is about to go back and turn the display an inch or two clockwise, that should hide them better, when he hears a loud crash from outside. Aaron’s blood runs cold. 

He pauses and listens for something more, but nothing more comes, so he tries shrugs it off. Aaron walks back into the work area and unlocks the case, reaching with shaky hands to turn the plate. Almost the second he touches it, there is another crash from outside. He rips his hand away like he’s been burned, almost toppling the tower of sweets on the plate. He stands up, slamming his head into the open display case as well, and swearing all the while. He wonders why Theodosia hasn’t come out for all the racket. He rubs at the spot on his head, shutting the case quietly. Once again, the noise has stopped. He doesn’t let himself lower his guard this time, but creeps toward the front door. It stays silent for a long time. And then, another loud crash outside, and now Aaron can identify it. It sounds like, at least, two trash can lids slamming together. But this time, after the noise has stopped ringing in his ears, someone shouts.

Aaron figures he has about two seconds to react. In any other situation he would’ve locked the front door and gone into the back again, but if someone else is in danger he has no choice. He wastes one precious second deciding whether or not to alert Theodosia of the potential threat. The next second is spent on flinging the door open, bracing himself for whatever awaits him.

Nothing.

The street is the same as it normally is, with people scattered along the way and in the windows of shops. Cars roll lazily down the street, shift in and out of parking spaces along the curb. No one appears to be in any peril. Aaron lets out a deep sigh, feels his heart start to slow. He begins to relax again.

“Aaron Burr, sir!”

If he hears that greeting even one more time while he’s still alive, he thinks he’ll be sick.

Aaron turns on his heel back to the glass door, hand already reaching for the bar to push and go back inside. This is supposed to be the day he _doesn’t_ have to deal with Hamilton. He’s still bristling from the library visit; Hamilton had just about ensured that Aaron will never willingly spend time with him again. And here he is anyway, calling out to Aaron as if their last conversation wasn’t entirely hostile. Christ. He’s almost pushed the door in enough for the overhead bell to ring when he hears a voice that he doesn’t recognize from the same direction as Hamilton’s original call. It is decidedly lower, smoother and if possible, a bit more devious. “Hey Alex, who’s your friend?”

“I _know_ I didn’t hear you say Aaron Burr. You’ve gotta be fucking with us.” Another unknown voice. This one is toned more similarly to Hamilton’s, arrogant and full of itself. Even so, it’s different. Maybe it was more southern at some point? Some detached bit of Aaron’s brain supplies the answers for these new voices, and he realizes that Hamilton isn’t alone, wherever he is standing off to Aaron’s left. The calm bit of his mind stops working right there, as if filing its nails and seemingly indifferent to the panic beginning to bubble back up in the rest of his head as he notices three extra pairs of eyes on him. He swallows hard, takes his hands from the door’s cool embrace. He turns to face the music.

“Dear god, it is him!” That’s arrogant-voice boy, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets. He shakes his head and his hair bounces around his face, casting corkscrew shadows across his freckled cheeks. He’s smiling in the way that, until he first met Hamilton two days ago, he didn’t think could possibly be so menacing. This boy makes it that way, too. He takes two steps across the sidewalk towards Aaron before he stops and shakes his head again. “Alex, you didn’t tell us you were friends with _the_ Aaron Burr, the prodigy of Princeton college.” Every time he breathes Aaron’s name, his voice gets more condescending. Aaron tries not to flinch away. He’s always known that people know him, know a little of his backstory and that he got into college early, but he’s never met someone so _hostile_ about it. He raises his eyes to find Hamilton’s, something he wouldn’t do in any less dire of a situation, but he needs a distraction from the new boy in front of him. He finds himself raising his eyes up much higher than he thought he’d have to, because Hamilton is riding atop one of his friend’s shoulders. When he realizes that he’s caught Aaron’s gaze, his face actually lights up. “Burr!” he calls again, and he seems to have no intentions of adding on any other comment towards him. It seems to be just to prove that he and Aaron do, indeed, know each other.

“That’s because we’re not friends,” Aaron forces out nervously, lowering his eyes to arrogant-voice again. The boy doesn’t look convinced. He pulls the lone earphone he’s had in his ear out, letting it drop hard to his chest where it bounces twice before settling. He still doesn’t respond. Even with this boy not speaking, the rest of Hamilton’s group is raising a ruckus behind him, yelling and hooting and there’s the smashing noise again, he peers over arrogant-voice’s shoulder just in time to see Hamilton kick his legs out and topple a trashcan. Aaron is almost smug for a moment. He was right. Still, when he returns his gaze to a normal level, the boy is there. Aaron tries to shake the anxious feeling this one is giving him and walks past him and right into the eye of the hurricane, or more specifically over to where Hamilton is still being held. They stay loud as Aaron approaches, don’t even pause to greet him. Besides Hamilton and the one who’s holding him on his shoulders, there is one more person in their group, a lanky boy who Aaron recognizes but can’t quite place. He looks strangely put together next to the others in the group, his outfit is actually well-thought out and executed even better. He looks like one of the more approachable ones, or to be more specific, the ones who look the least likely to tear into Aaron with talons and teeth at their first given chance. Mostly, that feeling is coming solely from arrogant-voice. Hamilton is almost directly above him, teetering around on the shoulders of the last friend, probably the one who spoke first. He keeps rolling his arms back, threatening to throw Hamilton off of him. It’s only then that Aaron recognizes that Hamilton is holding a megaphone, which is likely the most terrifying thing he’s seen in his entire life.

“Oh dear God, Hamilton _please_ don’t use that. You’re loud enough as it is.” Aaron almost immediately regrets his speaking because every eye turns to him and the group erupts into laughter, all except Hamilton, who has turned a light shade of red. “Oh my god. Burr roasted you, Alex,” the one holding him hoots, almost doubling over under the weight of his laughter and another body together. Even arrogant-voice is laughing, staring up at Hamilton and shaking his head. Aaron clears his throat, straightens his back to try and appear more intimidating and reset the conversation. Even so, he remains the shortest one in the group. The one holding Hamilton might be shorter, but he has another torso above his head so it’s hard to tell. “What are you even doing here, Hamilton? You should be in class.”

“It’s Friday,” arrogant-voice scoffs from behind him. “Basically the weekend. Not all of us are so brilliant as you.” Aaron resents that statement, really, but he doesn’t address it. More trouble than it’s worth, he decides. “And hey, why is Burr mommy-ing you, anyway?” That’s the same voice as the first one who spoke, the man supporting Hamilton atop his broad shoulders. Hamilton is already rolling his eyes. “Let me handle it, Herc.” He braces his hands on his own knees, leans over his friend’s head to talk to Aaron more directly. “We’re here because there’s supposed to be a _protest_.” His eyes practically sparkle as he says it. “Some of the campus security won’t wear their cameras, and in the past few months, the rate of crime against gay students has doubled. Actually, against gay students of color, it’s _tripled_. Isn’t that insane? I’m _pissed_. I wanted to hop in on the action.”

Right. Aaron has heard about it, of course. He knows the problems with campus security. It’s been a school-wide issue for months. No one turned on or wore their cameras, those attacked were taken down while they walked alone. So no one ever had a strong enough witness to prove that they were assaulted in any way. Aaron would have to agree, it seems too coincidental to just be human error and not intentional neglect. Aaron agrees, but hasn’t spoken out himself. Everyone else, however, has been talking about it for as long as it’s been happening. He’d even seen the posters, people calling for change. For some reason, it didn’t occur to Aaron that it was today and on the street outside of his workplace. And it didn’t even cross his mind that, of _course_ , Hamilton would be there if it meant doing anything short of cutting out his own tongue.

“And I picked him up because Alex here already tried to fight some poor dude just for _looking_ like he was here to disrupt the peaceful protest.” The man, the one Hamilton called Herc, shifts his shoulders up and down to jostle Hamilton’s body, effectively bringing Aaron back into the moment. The lanky one makes a noise in his throat. “Then again, so did Laurens.” His voice is vaguely accented, probably from somewhere in France. Aaron considers spewing something at him in French, just to see if it gets a reaction, but quickly decides it rude and shuts the idea down.

“Yeah, but the guy I tried to fight _was_ here to disrupt us. And I _won_ , thanks, Laf.” Arrogant-voice has joined the circle around Aaron now, responding to the call of what Aaron assumes is his name. He sighs inwardly, slight relief washing through him. Now he has at least a nickname to put to every face, to decipher them in ways other than their bothersome voices. Hamilton clears his throat, and Aaron looks up to see his face reddening in the tell-tale way it does when he gets even mildly upset. “Anyway. Like I was saying, I came to participate.” Something indecipherable flickers across his face for a moment, and then all of his anger seems to dissipate as he smiles. “You too, Burr?”

“No.” He puts it bluntly, shakes his head along with the word to make sure Hamilton gets it, because Hamilton seems to only hear what he wants to hear sometimes. Aaron is definitely not here to stir up trouble. He’d never. He half expects Hamilton to launch into a speech about why he should, try to convince him to join up and grab the megaphone, but he doesn’t. Hamilton and his friends just stare back at him blankly. When he can’t take it anymore, he tacks on, “And why here? We’re miles from campus, you realize.” That reignites something in Hamilton’s eyes, and he’s braced forward on his knees again, making Herc below him cringe under the pressure as he tilts forward. “This goes beyond a campus issue, Burr, it’s about the abuse of power. It happens even more in the real world, the only difference is that our security doesn’t have guns.” He pauses like he wants Aaron to say something, but when he doesn’t, Hamilton sighs and continues. “And the guards aren’t doing their _jobs_ , quite frankly. They’re just doing fuck all while LGBT students get harassed and beat up, and then they conveniently weren’t wearing their cameras. It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. And we’ve gotta change it, right?” Hamilton throws his arms up, and Aaron is shocked as all his friends do the same. Aaron agrees with the sentiment, but it won’t put him in a good position if he starts joining in with the group around him, throwing his arms skyward and hollering. He stands still. “So what are you waiting for, Burr?” Hamilton is yelling now, not even looking down at Aaron anymore. He’s shouting his rage to the sky. “Don’t you care?” Aaron feels his brow furrow despite his best efforts to keep his facial expression unmoved. “Of course I care, Hamilton,” he answers after a pause, scratching under his eye with one finger. “I just think that the protest might not be the best way to handle it.”

“Then what do you suggest, mister high and mighty?” Laurens returns to the conversation again, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Truly, this boy is too much like Hamilton for any good to come of it. “Nothing ever gets changed if you don’t take action, Burr. If it’s not us, it’ll be someone else, maybe someone who can’t handle it. Revolution has always been and always will be imminent. What do you stall for?”

Aaron opens his mouth to reply, to try to gently explain his way out of this, when Hamilton’s megaphone crackles to life. They all cringe momentarily at the feedback, and then there’s Hamilton’s voice, loud and crisp as a bell but nowhere near as sweet. He’s _shouting_ into the amplifier, even, and his voice comes out about seven times louder than any human should ever be able to get. In fact, he’s so loud that it distracts Aaron and he forgets to even listen for words over the buzz of noise in his head. When he remembers and tunes in, he gets just about what he expected.

“-the time for change. Whether or not we members of the LGBT community are smaller in numbers, we are people all the same. And in order to protect us in the way which you are, may I remind you, _required_ to do, you must keep your cameras on your person and recording at all times. Too many of us have already been harmed by your negligence, and we will not tolerate it in silence.” The other three break out into cheers, stomping the ground and jumping, and even Aaron has to cast him a proud glance. Hamilton is smart, and has a way with words, certainly. He shakes it off, looks at the street around them. There appears to be no protest at all, just civilians walking along and shielding their ears from Hamilton’s non-stop barrage of words. Aaron sighs. Yes, Hamilton is smart, but he also can’t shut his mouth for anything. Not even to notice that he’s preaching at nothing, save for several confused passersby.

“Hamilton, there doesn’t look to be a protest at all.” Aaron hates to raise his voice like he does, but if he doesn’t there’s no chance that Hamilton would hear him at all. It must work, because Hamilton turns towards him and gawks, lowering the megaphone from where he’d pressed it into his lips. “That’s the way it always begins, Burr. You just need to _wait_. Isn’t that your thing?” He hasn’t moved the megaphone away quite far enough. His words still wind up magnified by it, it makes the sharpness in them cut just a little deeper. Still, Aaron just shakes his head. “No, I mean, look around. You four are the only ones.”

Something else washes over Hamilton’s face, and this is new. His mouth drops into a small line, his lips are pressed together tightly, and his gaze is flighty. Meanwhile, Herc is simply scuffing his toe against the ground, and the lanky one is dramatically looking away. It's the fact that even Laurens is scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck that forces everything to click into place in Aaron’s mind.

“Oh my God. You organized the entire protest, didn’t you?” 

The light jumps right back into Hamilton’s eyes.

“Isn’t it great?” he gushes, hands clenching on his legs. “I just wanted to do _something_ important with my time on campus. We’re already almost through our first semester, you know? I want to make an impact.” Aaron starts to shake his head, but is interrupted by another loud ring of feedback. “In fact, Burr, we could really use you!” Hamilton is yelling into the megaphone again, and it takes an incredible amount of self control for Aaron to keep his hands down at his sides instead of covering his ears. “You’re well-known, so your words will have more influence than mine, if you’d give a speech or two. I could write it for you if you wanted. Are you gay?” Aaron chokes on Hamilton’s words. “ _What?_ ” he almost squeaks. Hamilton just keeps grinning at him with starry eyes, and Aaron’s hand rises subconsciously to pinch at the bridge of his nose and try to stave off the headache Hamilton is bringing on. He does this every time he speaks, brings with his voice a fuzzy muffled feeling in Aaron’s head. It feels like someone’s stuffed him full of cotton, plugged up his mind. It’s worse than a simple headache, if he’s honest. Mostly just because Hamilton is the cause. And if Hamilton’s knows why Aaron hasn’t responded for such a time, he doesn’t show it nor does he seem to care. He huffs out an impatient breath and waves his hand vaguely. 

“It’s okay if you’re just an ally, Burr, but honestly it’d have a bigger effect if you were. Maybe you’re bi. Didn’t you date a guy last year? I swear someone told me you dated a boy. What was his name? James? John? Something with a ‘j’, I think.” Aaron’s face is outright flaming. He stands there and stares up at Hamilton in total silence, hands bunched at his sides. He’d be surprised if someone were to tell him that steam _isn’t_ shooting out of his ears, accompanied by a humorous tea kettle sound effect. Hamilton doesn’t take the hint still. “It doesn’t matter if you’re gay or bi or just curious or whatever, Burr! I think it’d be cool if you were though. But if you aren’t, that’s cool too. Think about it though! I mean, it’s not a choice but still, I mean-” Maybe Hamilton catches a glimpse of one of his friends’ embarrassed neck scratching and the faces they’re making at him, because he cuts himself off mid-sentence, rolls his eyes. “Either way, are you in?”

Aaron can’t help the eye roll that comes with Hamilton’s words. “Once again, Hamilton, _no_.” He shakes his head, this time following through. He can’t believe how reckless they’re all being, standing on the street and shouting about controversial issues. It takes a sort of confidence he supposes he just doesn’t have, and secretly he thanks himself for not having it. Hamilton’s already been yelling about not being straight. If people _are_ showing up, and Laurens has already had to fight someone off, they’re outright endangering themselves. Aaron seriously worries for their safety. He keeps shaking his head, hoping to get his point across. “Listen, I agree with you in theory but you need to be careful or, God forbid, you’re all going to get shot.”

“Let them shoot me then!” Laurens yells, and he rocks up on his toes as he says it like he’s trying to get taller, like the words he’s saying require a bigger body. Aaron can only shake his head again. “If you want support, you’ll need to go about this differently. Making big changes can be a dangerous game, and going around declaring that you’re looking for a fight at every turn isn’t the way to make friends.”

“Life isn’t about making friends, Burr!” Hamilton’s voice has gotten sharp again, all the excited wonder melting away into roaring anger. Aaron supposes it’s a good thing that he can be passionate, but this isn’t the way to do it. “There’s already a fight happening, whether or not we’re a part of it. But I wanna be a part of it!”

“And it’s not a game, this is the livelihood of hundreds of people on our campus!” Laurens tags on, stepping forward. His eyes flit up to meet Hamilton’s as he does, and some far away spark of admiration dances in his gaze when Hamilton nods enthusiastically. Aaron watches in silence.

“Would you rather us keep getting attacked?” the lanky one fires at him, and now it occurs to Aaron that he’s trapped, surrounded by Hamilton’s little group. Aaron tries to shake his head but can’t budge, can just stare weakly back at whichever one spoke last. “What do you want, Burr?” someone fires, and he’s not totally sure who it was. He can’t respond again, but he tilts his head up, finds Hamilton glaring down. He almost expects him to join back in, to say something to defend Aaron, but he doesn’t. His expression stays steady.

“Hamilton, we can discuss this inside.” Aaron speaks before he realizes he can even do so, and then looks around the circle to see similarly confused expressions on every face. Hamilton finally scoffs down at him, shakes his head. “I’m not going inside, Burr. This is important to me.” Aaron shakes his head back. “And it’s important to _me_ that you stop driving off business. Get down and come inside, or I’ll have to make you.” Hamilton laughs, sharp and short. “You won’t do shit.”

Aaron thinks otherwise.

Once again, he figures he has little more than a moment to make his decision. His mind is made up quicker this time, he takes the two steps required to reach Hamilton, and pulls him off of his friend’s back. He doesn’t argue, but yelps as Aaron’s hands dig into his hips to pick him up and throw him halfway over his shoulder. He notices now that Hamilton is taller than him, his feet are dragging the ground as he moves along. He’s kicking, too, but Aaron is far beyond the point of caring. He shoves the door open with the shoulder on which he isn’t hauling another person, and the bell rings overhead. The door slams shut behind them as he sets Hamilton down, and then opens again as his friends trail in obediently behind them. Hamilton is fuming, his face reddened from yelling and steam is practically shooting out of his ears, but he doesn’t say a word. Herc sits down in a table by the front window, shakes his head. “Burr roasted you again, Alex,” he comments distantly, not even looking at him. Hamilton’s head snaps in his direction, but he still doesn’t start yelling. He turns back slowly, looks up at Aaron with wide eyes and almost no emotion at the surface of his dark gaze.

“Alright then, Burr. Let’s do introductions.” Aaron raises his eyebrows, and Hamilton stretches his arms above his head uninterestedly, strolling to the table where his friend is sitting. “This asshole,” he starts, likely appropriately, “is Hercules Mulligan. He’s level-headed and keeps us from murdering each other.”

“I’m the mom friend,” Hercules agrees. “But like, the wine mom.” He sounds genuinely entertained by Hamilton’s introduction. Or, it would seem that way, if he would stop giving Aaron the look that he’s giving him. He looks almost pitying. It makes the eye contact between them very uncomfortable.

“Then we have mister Lafayette, whose full name is too long to say. He’s the better of the two mom friends. More responsible.” The lanky one steps forward and bows over his arm, and he looks friendly enough, too. Aaron almost smiles. He goes to ask for the full name anyway, and as soon as his mouth opens, Lafayette is answering. “Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette. It is a mouthful, I know.” He’s smiling back at Aaron, sticking his hand out. Aaron takes it, nods. “French?” he asks politely, knowing the answer is obvious. Even so, Lafayette beams. “Indeed! I moved to America in high school and stuck around for college.” He pulls his hand back from Aaron’s, takes a few steps away. Hamilton continues for him. “Lafayette is in his junior year. Just like you, Burr. I’m surprised you two haven’t met.” Ah, that makes sense. Aaron knows why he can place the man now; they have classes together.

“He wouldn’t hang around with people like me, Hamilton,” Lafayette chuckles, shaking his head. “Burr is a bit of a legend, after all.” And there’s that word again, legend. It makes Aaron cringe to hear it in relation to himself. He’s not a legend, he’s just smart. It wouldn’t make me a legend if I wasn’t also an orphan, he thinks bitterly, some far-off corner of his brain supplying sharp words. He’s a legend because they pity him. Hamilton is an orphan too, apparently, he wonders if Hamilton would be a legend too. More importantly, he wonders if Hamilton might have picked that term up from Lafayette in the first place, but doesn’t ask. Hamilton steps away from Lafayette and towards his final friend. “And this-” Hamilton throws his arm around the boy’s shoulder in a grand gesture- “is John Laurens. In all likelihood, Laurens and I were born one person and then split in two by some sort of magic.” He pulls Lauren’s shoulder tighter against his, turns his head to smile at him. Laurens is already smiling back, all the hostility on his face draining out as he meets Hamilton’s eyes. Something squeezes in Aaron’s chest.

“Yeah, that’s prolly why you like him so much, you arrogant bastard,” Hercules hoots from his table, slamming his hand down to punctuate his sentence. Lafayette races across the room to give him a high five, and Hamilton just flips him off. He lets Laurens pull away, but his hand still lingers on his shoulder. Aaron chuckles softly at Hercules’ comment too, and Hamilton is smiling again, teeth braced together. He doesn’t look angry at this moment, and it’s a huge relief.

“Why’d you want me in here, exactly, Burr? This doesn’t exactly look like your kind of hang out.” Hamilton eyes the decoration around the room and Aaron does the same. It’s all fairly light colors, soft pastel yellows and pink and whites. Theodosia says it attracts customers. Aaron’s never looked into the science behind that, but Theodosia’s always been right before. He shrugs. “I work here, Hamilton. I’m trying to do my job, but you and your friends were scaring away business.” Hamilton’s eyes shoot wider, but his smile stays in place. “Work here? You bake?”

“That’s adorable,” Laurens coos, and it sounds sweet. It would, at least, if one of the others had said it. It sounds like a sneer from his mouth. _Everything_ does. Hamilton glances at him, and Aaron watches as, again, all the contempt melts from his body. His eyes soften. Aaron spares just a moment to question their dynamic before shaking his head at the now seemingly-calmed Laurens. “I have no shame about it. It’s a hobby.”

Hamilton’s mouth curls up into a smile, teeth exposed and all. He nudges Laurens again, and Laurens moves in the direction he pushes not unlike an obedient puppy, walks across the room to settle down in a chair across from Hercules. Lafayette, already standing there, takes the cue and leans back against the table. Hamilton keeps smiling, and then he laughs, the sound pealing out like a bell. He shakes his head. “Well, don’t let us stop you then, Burr.”

“What?” Aaron coughs out for the second time, and Hamilton laughs again, waving him away. “I said, do what you do. We’ll be calm.” Aaron doesn’t believe him even slightly, but Theodosia is still on her break and he knows if he brings her in to handle Hamilton he’ll never hear the end of it. So he heaves a sigh but stalks back around the counter all the same, keeping a wary eye on Hamilton all the while. He doesn’t budge, but keeps grinning like he knows something that Aaron doesn’t. It’s bothersome, it makes his skin crawl, makes his face hot. Aaron busies himself with wiping down the countertop and shifting the items in the display around. He pretends that he doesn’t find his hands shaking under the watchful gaze, keeps his eyes down.

“Whatcha doing, Aaron?”

He smacks his head into the glass door of the display case again. He rubs at the spot, knowing for certain now that it will bruise, and rises to see Hamilton. He’s leaning nonchalantly on the rounded glass and resting his chin in one cupped hand atop the counter, gazing down at Aaron with some vague, lazy interest. His other hand is pressed flat to the swell of the glass, his fingers drumming. Aaron doesn’t even bother toning down the glare he gives him. “Don’t call me Aaron,” he reminds sternly, looking back to his hands. “And stop touching the glass, you’ll smudge it.” He flicks at Hamilton’s hand from the other side of the glass to make his point, already noting the palm-sized splotches he’s leaving on the outside of the case.

“This is important, Burr, I’d like it if you’d look at me when I talk to you.” Aaron sighs, still halfway under the glass. Hamilton’s voice sounds far away but still incredibly distinct, loud, and annoying. It’s almost impossible to ignore. _Almost_. He doesn’t reply. Hamilton keeps drumming his fingers on the case and lowers his face, trying to level himself with Aaron through the pane. Aaron sees him smile wildly out of the corner of his eye. “I want to talk about our project,” he says plainly, and Aaron raises his head again. “Hamilton,” he starts, but is cut off by Hamilton shooting back up to his full height and rapping his knuckles on the counter. “Up here, Burr, I can’t hear you like that.” Aaron glares up at him, and still finds himself rising to his feet, putting his own elbow down and leaning forward to counter him. “As I was saying,” he tries again, narrowing his eyes at the boy across the counter, “we have until literally next year to sort this project out. I’d rather you not bother me with it at my place of work.”

“Burr, the sooner we start, the better we can do. We need to pool our ideas and write an outline.”

“The last time we tried to pool our ideas you told me to shove it up my ass and acted like an impertinent child,” Aaron points out, and Hamilton rolls his eyes. “That’s in the past.” He pulls his hand out from under his chin to chew his nail absently. Aaron rolls his eyes right back and steps away from the counter, busying himself again by picking up the broom and sweeping away at nothing. Hamilton continues fidgeting nervously at the glass but says nothing. Aaron tries to ignore him looming there, but his shadow is being cast across the wall and honestly, his presence just _demands_ to be acknowledged. The silence stretching out between them would be far more terrible, though, if it weren’t for Hamilton’s friends in the background. Lafayette and Hercules are arm wrestling across the table and Laurens is standing on a chair beside them, loudly narrating over their exaggerated grunts and curses. Aaron ignores that, too. Finally, Hamilton flattens his arm against the countertop and stops shaking with the over-excited energy he always carries. “Burr, if we’re going to do this, let’s do it quickly. I still have a protest to organize outside.”

“Then go do it,” Aaron suggests under his breath, a little more snarkily than he means to be. Hamilton huffs, and his face begins to redden again. “You piss me off,” he states simply, planting his feet further apart. Aaron nods in agreement, still not looking at him. “You piss me off too, Hamilton, let me make that very clear.” Hamilton’s smile comes back, not as wide this time but there all the same, and Aaron briefly wonders how he does it. How could Hamilton possibly perform the mental gymnastics to feel so much all over all at once? “You don’t get upset, Burr. You’re an emotionless robot.”

“You’re an exception,” Aaron says, the annoyed feeling curling in his throat all the evidence he feels is necessary to back up the statement. “You get under my skin.” Hamilton nods furiously, snapping his fingers. “See? We do have a lot in common.” Aaron leans his broom against the wall, faces the counter again. “Stop pushing that point. We are polar opposites.”

“Polar opposites attract, Burr. That’s the point.” Either Hamilton misses the double entendre or he entirely meant it and doesn’t care, because while Aaron splutters in an entirely undignified way, trying to piece together what exactly _that_ was supposed to mean, Hamilton just begins pacing back and forth. Aaron watches him do this for no reason for a long moment, walking just the length of the counter and wringing his hands together. Aaron walks back up to the counter, shakes his head. “What do you want, Hamilton,” he asks, not even enough emotion in his words for it to sound like a question. Hamilton’s head shoots up and he stops pacing, rushing up to the counter. He almost clashes into Aaron he moves so fast, and when he steadies himself, he has to pause a moment to breathe. The wide smile is back in full force. “I want you to take a definitive stance on one side or the other for our statement. It’ll make the outline so much easier.” Every bit of Aaron’s sympathy falls to the wayside.

“I _won’t_ , Hamilton.” He realizes now that they’ve been escalating in volume, and the sound from the other three is diminishing quickly. He doesn’t think it through enough to care. “The outline would be easier if you’d just be willing to look at this from another angle. You’ll still get to argue your side.” Hamilton goes back to drumming his fingers on the glass. “It doesn’t matter if I don’t get to argue it to completion.”

“Not everything needs to be done entirely for it to be done, Hamilton.” The tapping stops abruptly and the quietness makes Aaron acutely aware of the three more sets of eyes looking at him from over Hamilton’s shoulder. When he redirects his gaze, Hamilton’s face is flushed like he should be angry, but in truth he just looks disappointed again. And again, Aaron finds himself feeling guilty. “I don’t know, Burr,” he breathes finally, his eyebrows knitting together. His voice comes out soft and pliant. “I suppose we’ll discuss it some other time.” He gazes at Aaron for one long, untelling moment of eye contact before standing away from the counter, and he turns on his heel and leaves. The bell rings above him, an awkward noise to accompany his dramatic exit.

Laurens goes just moments after, his eyes following after Hamilton as he walks out the door. When it closes behind him, he looks up to Aaron with his eyes squinted. He shakes his head, springs down off the chair he’s still standing on and shuffles out the door after Hamilton, sprinting once he hits the street in an attempt to catch him. Lafayette and Hercules linger awhile longer, twin confusion on their faces. Aaron tries to shrug but can only raise one shoulder slightly, and Hercules shakes his head too. “You pissed _Hamilton_ off enough to run him out.” He whistles, stretching it out so that it’s exaggerated meaning is clear. “That’s cold, man.” He stands and hurtles toward the door, turning the same direction that Laurens and Hamilton went. Lafayette stays a little longer, stands up and walks across the room to the counter, addressing Aaron directly. “I apologize for my friends,” he says sincerely, shaking Aaron’s hand again. “Hamilton has a bad temper. I am sure you already know.” Aaron nods, but doesn’t speak. His throat is tight, threatens to rip even just from him breathing. Strangely enough, Lafayette seems to understand. He lets Aaron go and half-shuffles to the door, throwing his hand up and picking up the pace once the door swings shut behind him.

“Rough crowd?”

Aaron turns to see Theodosia standing in the doorway behind him, a cigarette between her fingers. He raises his eyebrows. “You don’t smoke anymore.”

“E-cig,” she answers, blowing steam in his face. “It’s a process, babe.” Aaron fans away the steam, sits down behind the counter. “How much did you hear, then?” She shrugs. “Some. Enough. From around the time he started pacing.” She steps up to lean against the glass beside him. “You were right, the kid definitely annoys you. I haven’t seen you get upset like that since you found out Madison was dating Thomas.”

“Yeah, and she still deserves better.” He sighs, leans his head back against the glass behind him. “Stop calling him a kid, by the way. He’s barely younger than me.” Aaron laughs, shaking his head. “That’s the worst part, honestly.” His laugh turns bitter, and he directs his eyes to the place where his hands are folded in his lap. “He’s responsible for his own decisions.” Theodosia nods. “Oh yeah. Sounds terrifying. Especially since you’re a bit of a control freak.” She pauses as she meets Aaron’s sharp gaze, throws her hands up in surrender. “Hey, you are. It wasn’t an insult, you know that.” Aaron feels his gaze soften, lets his shoulders slump. “Yeah. You’re right.” She settles into the chair next to him, carefully holding her fake cigarette away from him. “You don’t have to look after him, you know. He’s not your responsibility.”

“I know.” He swings the chair around so it faces the front of the shop and doesn’t say another word. She’s right. Still, Aaron can’t help but watch the empty street outside the window anyway, waiting for something to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to elaborate on this chapter; aaron's struggle with social justice and protest is his own thing. it's a major plot point, it's important to his character, and i dont share his views. i wanna make this very clear; i am _all_ for protests, both peaceful and otherwise. i dont want anyone getting the wrong idea. i'll continue to restate this on later chapters, but i wanna make sure we're all on the same page.
> 
> aaand then things about the actual chapter: yes, aaron works at a bakery. you can pry my baker!burr headcannon from my cold dead hands. theodosia is 26 because i said so. madison is james madison, she's a trans girl and i love her. john laurens is awful. my garbage son


	4. find a compromise

Aaron goes home once his shift is over. Usually, since it’s a Friday and basically the weekend, as Laurens had put it, he doesn’t have anything else of importance to do and so he goes out with Theodosia. They’ll typically go to see a movie or grab dinner. Today, instead he tells her he just isn’t feeling it. The truth of it is that he’s worried about Hamilton, and worried about his obnoxious group of friends, too. He hates that he is, but they’re putting themselves in danger. They’re fighting for a good cause, he definitely agrees with that much. Still, Aaron isn’t sure how his conscience would handle it if one of them were hurt and he hadn’t stuck around to help them fight or to do anything to stop it. He might not want to take the same stance as them, but that doesn’t mean he wants them to fail. He doesn’t, he just- He doesn’t know yet.

Aaron says none of this when he tells Theodosia that he has too much classwork to go do anything, but from the look in her eyes he feels safe in assuming that she already knows.

As Aaron walks home, it begins to snow. Even for New Jersey it’s a little early in the year, the soft flakes twirling down from the sky and dampening everything below. It doesn’t stick yet, but he stops for just a moment and watches the slow spin as they descend. He heads in before the wet snow can soak through his sweater, but still peels the sweater off along with his jeans as soon as he’s secure in his dorm. He replaces it with a plain t-shirt, lays back on his mattress and does nothing. When he realizes that doing nothing may be counter-productive, he stands back up and pushes the pile of clothes off his desk chair, arranges the colored pens on his desk away from his paper. He starts to write out an essay for his English course, something 19th century female authors, but he finds himself unable to focus. For every sentence he cranks out robotically, he spends at least three minutes staring up at the window and the snow outside. And more infuriatingly, he suddenly _wants_ to work on the stupid psychology paper. Hamilton had been right; time is running out fast, and they only have about a month. He wants to write hundreds of pages defending both sides, just to prove to Hamilton that it can be done and it can be done _well_. Everything he thinks to do ties back into that strange, scrawny boy, and that upsets him more. Every time he thinks of him, his mind wanders off to see him freezing outside in the snow, standing atop a parked car and shouting through chattering teeth into his megaphone. He likely would, too.

Aaron tosses his pen down to the desk in a bit of a fit. He can’t _possibly_ work with Hamilton on this project. Every time it’s brought up, one of them gets hostile and walks out. They simply aren’t compatible, Aaron thinks- Hamilton is like a high that goes strong for hours and then burns out all of a sudden, like a candle lit at the end of a breezy hallway. All it takes it one sharp blow to put him out. Aaron functions best at a more mellow pace, with stops and breaks and time to think. Hamilton won’t bend to work that way, and Aaron won’t bend the other. He almost wishes he could blame Washington for the inconvenience, but it’s Hamilton and his goddamn temper that’s stopped anything from getting done. If not Aaron, it would have been some other poor soul, forced into Hamilton’s grasp by the cruel hands of fate. Admittedly, in this case, fate is Washington. And being the one to bear Hamilton’s burden is just Aaron’s luck.

But, rushing things never made anything better, he tells himself. He’s gotten this far in life on patience alone, gotten almost all the way through college, now. He sees himself like a piece on a game board, every setback just a bad roll or a bad card. Hamilton is a bad card. This project is a bad card. He’ll be back on track before he even knows what hit him. Slow and steady wins the race, after all. He thinks of the saying again, throws himself face down into his book.

He closes his textbook. He can’t stand to read another seven paragraphs about Jane Austen, and right now he doesn’t even think he could stomach it. The snow outside starts to stick, frosting over the windowpane and painting the grass outside white. Aaron watches for a while longer, lets everything be erased and cleared from his mind, and then picks up all his pens and drops them in the cup on his desk. He stands, replaces the pile of laundry on his chair. He does what any sane person does when stressed; he lies down for a nap.

Aaron hates that he feels bad about their encounter today. Even more, he hates that he might have a reason to feel bad. Hamilton hadn’t even meant to find him, just happened upon him. And then, he’d only tried to introduce his friends and play nice, to discuss the project. Doesn’t that make Aaron the one at fault, then? The exchange had actually been fairly pleasant once they got inside and away from the fire that an open street leaves Hamilton burning with, and still Aaron chased him out. And doesn’t that make him rightfully sorry? Shouldn’t he feel bad?

His phone buzzes on the bed beside him. He’s not even half asleep, just warm beneath the sheets and blankets and more than reluctant to reach out to see who it is. Aaron ignores it. His eyes roll restlessly behind their lids as he tries to find sleep, and the phone buzzes again. Again, he ignores it. And again. And again and again until Aaron peels his eyes back open to find it shifting it’s way across the mattress without him, en-route to the floor if he doesn’t stop it before another text comes through. He balls the blanket up over his hand, pulls the phone back in towards him. He tugs the top of the covers up so that he can examine it without removing himself from the pleasant warmth. Every text is from an unknown number, but when Aaron pulls the screen down with his thumb, he can tell exactly who it is without even a shadow of a doubt. Just his luck.

 _(609) 867-3663_ : aaron burr, sir!

 _(609) 867-3663_ : can we confer?

 _(609) 867-3663_ : i really think we need to touch base on this whole project thing

 _(609) 867-3663_ : and i kind of stormed out like a drama queen earlier

 _(609) 867-3663_ : i #Live for the drama though, know that about me

 _(609) 867-3663_ : this is your number, correct?

 _(609) 867-3663_ : i don’t think she would fuck me over like that, giving me a fake number smh

It takes most if not all of Aaron’s self control to keep his phone in his hand and not send it sailing across the room and out the window. He imagines the satisfying crack it would make as it shattered the window and landed in the snow outside. He entertains the thought for a lot longer than necessary.

So Hamilton has his number. That much is abundantly clear. Aaron can’t think of anyone else who always greets with ‘sir’ and would send seven rapid-fire texts with no reply. In fact, Hamilton is already typing again by the time he responds.

 _A. Burr_ : Hamilton?

 _(609) 867-3663_ : ah burr it is you! good

 _(609) 867-3663_ : did you get my other texts?

 _A. Burr_ : What the fuck 

_A. Burr_ : How did you get my number?

 _(609) 867-3663_ : teacher’s aid in my law class gave it to me lmao 

_(609) 867-3663_ : i tried to get it from the chick at your work first

 _(609) 867-3663_ : she said ‘because it’s important’ wasnt a valid reason and told me to fuck off

Aaron snorts softly despite the implications of this. Theodosia always has his back, apparently even when it comes to boisterous, nosey men who go snooping for his phone number. He makes a mental note to thank her when he goes into work tomorrow.

 _A. Burr_ : So who exactly did you get it from?

 _(609) 867-3663_ : her name is Jem or Madison or something like tht idk she’s a senior i think??

 _(609) 867-3663_ : she said you’d probably be okay with it

Not that Theodosia covering for him would work forever, clearly. Aaron’s known Madison even longer than Theodosia, since high school, though she was a senior when he was a junior. They grew closer when they both wound up at Princeton after Aaron graduated. Madison is someone who Aaron would call his friend, even though it apparently may be an ill-placed title on her. Clearly, since she's willing to give his phone number out to people like Hamilton. Still, he doesn’t think he’ll tell Hamilton exactly how he feels about Madison giving him the number. Hamilton has been kind throughout the conversation thus far, and his replies confirm that he is alive and safe, and doesn’t actually hate him. Aaron feels some of the heavy anxiety in his chest lift.

 _(609) 867-3663_ : so did you get my other texts or??

 _A. Burr_ : Hamilton I was trying to take a nap please let me resume

 _(609) 867-3663_ : ????? dude

 _(609) 867-3663_ : i went through all this trouble to find your phone number

 _(609) 867-3663_ : and you just want to go to sleep?

 _(609) 867-3663_ : we need to WORK ON OUR FUCKING PROJECT PLEASE

 _A. Burr_ : Goodnight, Hamilton.

Aaron clicks his phone off. He sets it back on the bed beside him for a moment before changing his mind, moving it to the edge of his bedside table. He closes his eyes again, slides the tips of his fingers beneath his pillow for the strange comfort it gives him. He lays there, his mind decidedly clearer now that he knows that Hamilton isn’t hurt. He feels the edges of sleep creep up into his head and is about to give in to them when his phone, predictably, rings on the table beside him. He almost screams. Despite all his better judgement, he answers.

“Hamilton…” he starts, not even checking who it is and purposefully exaggerating the grogginess of his voice to try to make him feel bad. Hamilton doesn’t seem to mind, and he doesn’t bother with a greeting. “Burr, this is important and we _need_ to start soon. This is our _final_ we’re talking about.” Even across the phone, his voice is piercing and sharp, starts to give Aaron a headache right away. It’s the same kind he always brings on, soft and muffled but a definite nuisance. Aaron huffs.

“What’s important is me getting my beauty rest,” Aaron mumbles back, and Hamilton chokes a laugh out. “Well, it’s not working for you anyway, sweetheart.” There is a pause as Hamilton rethinks what he’s said. The nickname drips with… something, either sarcasm or saccharine, and either way it makes Aaron itch under his skin. He shakes his head and decides to pretend it never happened. “I work another early shift tomorrow,” he tries to compromise, hoping Hamilton won’t take it as an invitation to show up. “We can meet in the library again in the evening. And this time, with less hostility, please.” Hamilton shifts on the other end of the phone, actually _whines_. “Burr, we need to start _now_. It’s already getting close to Thanksgiving break.” Aaron rolls his eyes, not that Hamilton can see it, but it alleviates some of his need to swear back at him in reply. “Well, you clearly have my phone number. We can continue our communication like this.” Hamilton groans, something shuffles around on his end of the call. “Burr, please.” Aaron shakes his head. “We’ll begin working on it tomorrow. That’s the way it’s going to be.”

“You don’t _understand_ ,” Hamilton huffs, his voice a childish whine. “I’m so fucking anxious. I _need_ to start on it.” Aaron almost laughs, but the seriousness of his sentence strikes just as he begins to. Hamilton has never admitted any weakness to him before. This is some vulnerability that he clearly chose to show for a reason. He cuts the laugh off immediately, swallows it down and recomposes.

“Hamilton, let me restate this,” he tries, making sure his voice is light but still commanding enough to ensure that he’s listened to. “You will have to tear my cold, dead body out of these sheets if you expect me to move before I get my nap.” There is a long pause, Hamilton shifts again. He sniffles. Aaron can hear wind rushing past the receiver. “Alright.” He sniffles one more time. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Hamilton, that is not what I meant and you _know_ that, _please_ don't-” He hears the click and dial tone before he can even get that much out, and he’s left staring down at his screen, the time of the call ticking on for a few moments before flicking to ‘Call Ended’. Aaron feels his jaw actually drop. Hamilton knows where he lives? Christ, how much information did Madison give him? Maybe he should give her a call.

Some larger part of his mind forces his gaze across his floor, and he groans out loud to no one in particular. The floor is a mess, scattered with clothes and other assorted items of no real importance that he’d just dropped without conviction. Aaron doesn’t really think Hamilton will show up, doesn’t really believe that Hamilton knows where his dorm is, anyway, but the mess drives him crazy and this is excuse enough to clean it. He rolls out of bed and onto the floor with a dull thump, but still doesn’t move to get out of the covers.

He glances down at himself beneath the blanket. He’s not cold, and the shirt he’s wearing is presentable enough, neat save for a small rip at the top of the sleeve. He keeps it on. However, he realizes he’s still not wearing pants. He sighs; he’d rather Hamilton not intrude the boundary of seeing him in his boxers as well. It’ll be bad enough if he chooses to show up at all. Aaron drags a pair of sweatpants towards him from the mess on the floor, tugs them on still without coming out of the blanket. He stays there on the floor, seeking sleep. He wasn’t really tired when Hamilton first texted him, but now he’d give almost anything to close his eyes and rest. He doesn’t.

Almost twenty minutes to the second after he hung up, there is a knock at Aaron’s door. He jumps upright out of the blanket, tosses it back onto his bed. He actually _showed up_. This means a few things that Aaron doesn’t want to think about too deeply are true; Hamilton knows where he lives, Hamilton is exactly the type to show up uninvited, and Hamilton will almost certainly do this again. Aaron starts bracing himself and tries to steady on his feet. He takes a deep breath and straightens his shirt out, kicks his clutter out of the way to clear a circle in the middle of the floor. “One second!” he yells at the absolute bother on the other side of the door, he can’t _believe_ \--

“Aaron Burr! Sir!” And there is Hamilton, arms wrapped around his small frame and shivering. He’s changed his clothes since Aaron saw him at the bakery, wearing a heavier sweater and ear muffs. Really, he looks like an asshole. Half melted snowflakes cling to his eyelashes, drip down wet onto his cheeks. He’s smiling, and his bottom lip is cut open at the edge, glittering with spots of fresh blood. Aaron wonders when exactly he started paying such close attention to the boy’s face that he could notice things like that, like the patchy redness of his cheeks and the sharp points of his front teeth.

Aaron frowns at him. “You don’t need to greet me like that at my own door.” Hamilton shrugs. “I like the rhyme. I think I’ll keep it up.” He rocks back and forth on his heels, his hand beginning the nervous fidget it seems to always be doing. Aaron sighs, steps back and opens the doorway to Hamilton. It’s chilly out in the hall, anyway, and he’d rather stop letting the heat of his room out. Hamilton steps in as soon as Aaron allows the way, still playing with the hem of his sweater. “Where’d you get the cut on your lip? That’s new.” Hamilton’s eyes lighten, and his hands fly to his face, fingertips brushing over the cut before pulling his earmuffs down around his neck. He’s positively beaming. “The dude John fought came back. He took a swing.” He grins again, tilting the injured bit of his mouth towards Aaron. “Cool, right?” Aaron rolls his eyes. “If that’s what you think ‘cool’ is, then, yes.” Hamilton laughs. He looks away again, out past Aaron to survey the rest of the room. His eyes travel over everything quickly. His eyebrows twitch up slightly, and his gaze sweeps the room again. Aaron hums, the sound tinged with nervousness. “So.”

“So,” Hamilton agrees, his eyes stopping their scoping of his room. He’s still smiling, his cheeks red and damp from the cold and the snow. “This is where the magic happens.” Aaron feels himself frown again. “It’s weird when you say it like that, Hamilton,” he tries to say plainly, but he laughs instead, this time unshaken and totally honest. Hamilton’s eyebrows raise. “A real laugh. How interesting, coming from you.”

“I do have emotions, thank you.” Aaron sinks back down into a sitting position on the edge of his bed. Hamilton stays standing, hands at the edge of his sweater. “Yeah. So. About the project.” He coughs, scratches at the back of his neck. Aaron feels strange. Hamilton looks extremely out of place in his room, stock-still and pulling at his clothes. His sweater is a horrible shade of green that stands out like a sore thumb against all the white and grey of Aaron’s room. Even Hamilton’s mannerisms are a little off from normal, all twitchy and frantic. He’s still standing at the edge of the room. Aaron clears his throat, shifts to the side of his bed. “Would you like to sit?” Hamilton doesn’t speak but nods, walks across the room and perches delicately on the very edge of Aaron’s bed. A faint dusting of pink floats over his cheeks, like the one that he gets when he argues but decidedly different. Aaron can’t help but feel bad. “Are you okay?” he asks as gently as possible. When Hamilton is nervous he makes it clear, gives off a tangible feeling of discomfort. He does that with all of his emotions, but Aaron is getting tired of this specific feeling being in his room. Hamilton’s grip tightens momentarily on the edge of his sweater and then he lets it go. “Of course,” he responds surely. He nods to himself for a moment, then springs back up to his feet. “Alright then, Burr. Let me just get my…” He trails off as he sinks to the floor, hands scrabbling for his backpack. He manages to get it unzipped, and Aaron watches him start to pull book after book out of it, stacking them on the floor.

“We really don’t need all the books,” Aaron notes, leaning forward on his knees. “We haven’t even decided if we’re debunking or supporting the statement yet.” Hamilton glances up at him, his usual grin coming back. “I was hoping you’d bring that up. Aaron, I have a proposition for you.”

“Don’t call me- What kind of proposition?” Aaron shifts off the bed, onto the floor beside Hamilton. The boy was clearly uncomfortable when forced to sit on his bed, he’ll make it easier on him. As much of an annoyance as Hamilton is, he clearly won’t be ignored. Aaron decides it will be easiest to just accept that he’ll be around sometimes, and to tolerate his presence when he is. Hamilton cracks his knuckles, waves all his fingers as if to loosen them. “I say we write two papers.” Aaron shakes his head immediately in an attempt to shut him down. “What?” he asks, clearly rhetorically, but Hamilton answers anyway.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking this over and over and I just couldn’t think of a way to do it, and then it occurred to me that we could just do two. We’ll write it each our own ways, you defending both sides and me just the one, and we turn in whichever one is better. We’ll need someone else to judge it for us, I could ask John, and then-”

“I was saying no,” Aaron clarifies quickly, stopping him before he can say any more. “Why should we do twice the work?” Hamilton rolls his eyes. “It’s not twice the work. And it makes it so we can start right now instead of whenever you decide to make up your mind. Which is likely never.” He holds up a textbook to Aaron. “You can borrow these, if you want. I take notes in them, you can work off of those.” Aaron pushes the book away, the annoyed feeling boiling up in him again. “I can write from my own thoughts, actually. And I’m not going to write my own paper just so _your_ friend can decide that your paper is the better of the two.” Hamilton’s jaw drops open for a moment, and then he pulls his lips back together in a tight line. “Alright.” He sets the book down on top of his stack. “You know, you’ll take a stand on just about anything if it’s against me,” he comments quietly, staring down at his nails as if they’re suddenly the most interesting thing on earth. He looks up, flicks his hand back to his chest to point at himself. “Am I your exception?” Aaron stares him down boredly, holding his gaze. Hamilton wants a reaction. Aaron refuses to give it to him. Hamilton runs the point of his tongue over the cut on his lip. “I like it, honestly. The fact that you don’t like me. It gives me something to strive for.” He puts his elbow on the stack of books, his chin on his hand. “Why don’t you like me, Burr?”

Aaron sticks his hand up to stop him before he can say anything to really get him mad. “I like you just fine, Hamilton.” He drops his hand back to his lap, laces his fingers together. “You just…” Aaron trails off, unsure of what to say. He doesn’t dislike Hamilton necessarily. He just doesn’t really _like_ him, either. The boy annoys him to no ends, gives him constant headaches and always wants to argue with him, but he isn’t actually awful. He’s obnoxious, he’s kind of terrible to be around and he keeps showing up to bother Aaron at every turn, but he’s... he's _alright_. Theodosia might be right, because Theodosia is always right; he seems like he’s trying. Aaron appreciates that in people. Aaron leans back against the bed, glances back at him. Hamilton is still sitting still, holding his head up. He blinks slowly at Aaron, licks at his injury again. Aaron tries to avoid looking at his tongue. It makes him feel strange. Hamilton not speaking is strange, too. Aaron always wants him to shut up when he starts talking, but when he stops it’s unsettling. He looks too small. Too soft. He still doesn’t reply. Aaron sighs.

“And fine. I’ll do it.” There’s no reason for Aaron to do what he’s doing, but Hamilton has worn him down over the few days they’ve known each other. He’s giving in a lot easier than he usually would but, damn it, Hamilton has already exhausted him. That, and Aaron just wants Hamilton to do _something_. He always wishes Hamilton would shut up until he does, and then he just wishes he’d start speaking again. And besides, him sitting there in silence on the floor of Aaron’s room is getting uncomfortable and he wants it to stop. He gets this wish, Hamilton raises his eyebrows. “Do what?” It’s almost a relief to hear his voice, no matter how awful it is. Aaron shakes his head a little, drops his gaze as Hamilton starts to bite at his scabbing lip. “I’ll cede. Hamilton, I am willing to write the paper defending our statement.” Hamilton’s eyes widen, and then his stony expression is cracking wide open and he’s smiling again. His mouth twitches at the side slightly, and then he’s throwing his arms open, startling Aaron as he topples the books next to him into his lap. “Great! That’s incredible, Aar- Burr, I’m so glad you’re seeing it my way!” His arms inch forward a little, like he’s thinking about a hug but ultimately deciding against it. He drops his arms back to his sides. Aaron is also glad for that.

“Now we can actually begin working on the paper! We’re both smart, so if we started now we could likely have it finished before Christmas, we could do the editing over break-” Aaron clears his throat, moves the fallen books off of his legs. “We won’t be able to start anything if you don’t stop talking.” Hamilton is still smiling, doesn’t even flinch. There is no real bite behind Aaron’s comment, and Hamilton seems to know that, too. “You’re right,” he says, and _that_ is a surprise. He’s never acknowledged Aaron as right in anything. Really, he’s being entirely too friendly. As nice as it is, it sets Aaron on edge. It makes him wary of what might be coming. Hamilton blinks innocently back at Aaron for a moment, nothing readable about his gaze, and then plants his palms on the bed behind him, pulls himself up onto Aaron’s bed again. He looks comfortable enough this time, scoots back until his knees meet the edge of the bed. He pats the mattress beside him. “Come back up here. We’ll work up here.” Aaron stares up at him incredulously. He will never understand this man.

“So, where do we begin?” Aaron asks, standing up and moving back onto his bed. Hamilton pulls a book off the top of the stack on the floor, opens it and points to a paragraph. “Here.” Aaron skims over the highlighted section, but doesn’t really read it. He owns this book himself, bought it in freshman year and read it over with little payoff. He figures Hamilton is only showing him this bit because he’s particularly proud of the notes he’s left in the margin, all too hastily scrawled to actually be read. Hamilton shifts beside him, the springs in his bed clanging together under the weight as he moves. Then suddenly he’s reading over Aaron’s shoulder, breathing warmly on his neck and humming softly. Aaron can’t focus like that, and he begins to shift away to the best of his ability. “You’re entirely too close to me,” he points out, still pushing himself away. Hamilton nods distractedly, eyes still cast down toward the paper. “Mhm. You know, I’ve been thinking, Burr.”

“That’s new,” Aaron scoffs under his breath, and despite how close he is, Hamilton doesn’t seem to hear. He sits up away from Aaron’s shoulder, catches his gaze. “I’ve been thinking, it might be more sensible to conduct our own experiments on this.” Aaron feels his expression shift, his brows furrow together. “And how exactly do you expect to do that?” Hamilton shrugs. “Oh, I haven’t quite figured the logistics of it yet, but, you know. Once I do, I’m sure it won’t take more than a week or two to actually carry out.”

“It can’t be a very sound experiment if you plan to only run it once over the course of a week.” He shifts further away. Hamilton does not understand personal space, it seems. He shrugs again. “It’s a work in progress, Burr. Give me time.” Aaron stares back at him. He looks so proud of himself for even suggesting it, his split lip tugging at the corner of his smile. His hands are flat on the bed between his crossed legs, and he’s leaning forward on them like he’s waiting for something exciting to happen. Aaron wonders how he keeps his energy up like that. Why he’s so easily excitable and full of life. It’s sort of fascinating, in a really infuriating, pressing sort of way. Finally, he laughs softly, shakes his head. “You’re insane.” He pauses, thinks over his words carefully. “It’s almost intriguing, really.” Hamilton’s face positively lights up, his eyes getting wide. He nods enthusiastically, and then seems to catch himself, tries to brush away his excitement.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to _tell_ you, Burr,” he covers, scoffing as if he wasn’t just glowing at the vague compliment. “I’m a great guy.” He sighs exasperatedly, like this was supposed to have been obvious the whole time, flings himself back against the mattress. “And you are, too,” he continues, his voice quieter for being directed at the ceiling instead of inches away from Aaron’s face. He tosses his arm over his forehead. “But you’re all shut up and won’t tell me anything about you. It’s kind of disappointing.”

“When have you ever showed any interest in knowing things about me?” Aaron laughs, and to his surprise, Hamilton doesn’t return the laugh to him. “I’ve been trying, believe it or not. You just shut me down at every turn.” Aaron leans back against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. It’s strange how friendly they’re being, considering how disastrous all their other encounters have been. Still, he wasn’t lying when he told Hamilton that he was intriguing. Some bit of him is interested, and Hamilton doesn’t seem to be saying anything else without prompt. “Alright then.” He clicks his tongue to emphasize the sentence. “What is it that you want to know?” Hamilton shoots upright again, so fast that he almost cracks his head into Aaron’s chin. His eyes are wide, expectantly waiting for something that he hasn’t asked for yet. He crosses his arms to match Aaron’s, looking more like an insolent child with every passing second. He leans in, far too close again, and stays there, this time leaving Aaron with no escape. Finally, he hisses in a too loud whisper, “How do you do it?”

Aaron is caught a little off guard, presses his shoulder blades back into the wall until it aches. “Do what?” Hamilton’s hands twitch up into fists for a moment but drop back down, and he keeps nibbling at his cut lip. He’s still leaning in, chasing Aaron further back against the wall. It’s almost like Hamilton wants him to disappear into it. “How do you keep up? I mean…” He cuts off, sinks back into the mattress. Aaron pulls away from the wall, watching him closely. Hamilton scrubs at his face with both hands, then scratches at his chin. He shakes his head. “November isn’t even over. Like, we're not even through the first semester and already I’m all over the place. How do you do it? How do you manage that and still have, like. A life?” Hamilton pauses, and then shrugs. "Well, sort of a life. That's beside the point, anyway." Aaron furrows his eyebrows and chooses to ignore that last snide remark. Hamilton is making himself entirely too vulnerable, showing too much of his hand too soon. He wonders why, what it is he’s trying to accomplish. He’s still not sure how to respond. He’s always just kept up. There’s nothing more than that to tell him. “I just do,” Aaron offers lamely, almost feeling the disappointment coming off of the boy in front of him. His tone edges from soft into cooing. Hamilton has a way of tugging on every string that controls his emotion. Aaron is the one to move a little closer this time, and his hands itch to rest soothingly on Hamilton’s shoulder. He doesn’t let himself do it.

Hamilton stills for a moment, eyes lowering to the floor, and then jumps off the bed and onto his feet. Whatever words were hanging on the tip of his tongue are swallowed down, and he’s rifling through his bag, digging out his laptop. He sinks back onto the bed, shakes his head again. “Anyway. If we want to outline our paper, we’d better start now. Time’s ticking, Burr.” Aaron’s jaw threatens to hit the floor. The way Hamilton can flip-flop between emotions astounds him more with every passing second. He opens his mouth to ask, to continue the conversation they’d been having, but Hamilton’s eyes flash with something dangerous. His head shakes again. “Don’t. Let it go, Burr.” Aaron snaps his mouth shut in surprise, but he finds himself nodding. He looks down at the screen of Hamilton’s laptop. He doesn’t ask, but he also doesn’t let it go.

They finish the outline for the paper soon enough. It isn’t hard by any means, and Hamilton seems to have been thinking about this a lot as it is. Hamilton types with one finger at a time, which Aaron actually finds hilarious, but in no way does it hinder his speed. His hands fly across the keyboard like it’s a dance. He knows every word to use in the exact right way before Aaron can even suggest it. When they’re done, Hamilton returns the mountain of textbooks to his bag, slips it up over his shoulders. It gives him a permanent slouch to his back, and it makes Aaron want to straighten him up every time he sees him stand. He walks to the door, Aaron walks behind him. They exchange an awkward goodbye, the first one they’ve actually had where one isn’t storming out in anger, and Aaron opens the door to let him out. Hamilton grins at him from the hallway. “Same time tomorrow?” he asks, not a hint of humor in his tone. Aaron shakes his head. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious,” Hamilton counters, crossing his arms. “I’m always serious.” Aaron has to resist the urge to snort. Hamilton’s hands vacate the straps of his bag in favor of waving them in front of himself, shaking his head to dismiss it before Aaron can say anything. “And besides, the more we work like this, the sooner you can stop having to deal with me all the time.” He shrugs. “Win, win.”

“Not a win-win. And I don’t _have_ to do anything with you, Hamilton,” Aaron sighs. Hamilton nods, but still doesn’t vacate the doorway. He smiles. “Is that a yes?”

“No.” Aaron closes his eyes, rubs at the side of his head where the ache is beginning this time. “Wait.”

“I can’t.” Hamilton smiles back at him for what feels like a very long time. Then he tugs his earmuffs back into place and disappears down the hall, headed back out into the snowy dark. Aaron watches after him, staring down until the hall fades into shades of grey and nothing is visible. What a strange man Hamilton is.

With that thought out of the way, Aaron pulls the door closed and resumes his nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all i have to say about this is: aaron paying very close attention to alex's split lip. being intrigued by it. -eyes emoji-
> 
> a friendship begins to blossom between the boys! where will this take our spunky and likely clinically depressed protagonist, aaron burr? stay tuned to find out!
> 
> leave kudos for me to love you, comments for my undying affection, and bookmark if you'd like me to sacrifice a goat in your honor. thank you so much to all of you who've been reading since the beginning; i love you, and y'all keep me going.


	5. raise a glass

Aaron doesn’t see much of Hamilton for a few days. It’s not that he’s complaining, but things get incredibly quiet; Hamilton is reduced to a dull but neverending headache and a blur of awfully colored sweaters that streak by him on the quad. Psychology is a once a week class and, since Aaron is a junior, after all, he gets to keep to himself. After the encounter at work, though, he starts to notice Hamilton’s friends around more often, too. Lafayette is in his history class, yelling out answers. Hercules he sees speeding around campus on a bike and almost running him over. Laurens, he finds, is surprisingly calm when not antagonizing him. He sees him from afar, making a towering snowman in front of the art building. He doesn’t say hello to any of them, nor do any of them even acknowledge his existence, but it’s strange to know who they are so loosely now. It doesn’t require thought to recognize them, just a quick glance and a switch flipping in his head. Aaron tries not to think about it too much, anyway. He doesn’t think about Hamilton, either. He just spends his time trying to enjoy the slowness and preparing for finals.

Thanksgiving is creeping up on him, just a few days away. They’ll get four days off for it and most people seem to be going home, but Aaron doesn’t have the option. He figures he’ll just stay in the dorms and do his classwork. Freshman year, he’d gone and stayed with Madison and her boyfriend, Thomas, but the offer isn’t on the table this year, it seems. Madison has already mentioned going to stay with her sister and taking Thomas with her, and Aaron doesn’t mind all that much. He doesn’t like Thomas much anyway; he’s arrogant and pompous and, in fact, quite a lot like Hamilton. He has the same energy, he’s just a bit more in-your-face about it, god knows how. That makes it more annoying in Aaron’s eyes. At the very least, _equally_ as annoying. He makes his plans to stay on campus and do Thanksgiving with Theodosia like he did last year. The silence is nice, anyway. It gives him time to think, time to plan. He revels in it.

The silence, of course, doesn’t last long.

Aaron is leaving class, head down against the wind. It’s only gotten colder in the past three days, and it’s snowed on and off since the first night. Fall is clearly on it’s way to winter, freezing over the campus and driving people into the buildings in droves. It’s quiet outside, footsteps tracked in every direction across the grass by people desperate to get inside. Aaron breathes on his hands and rubs them together, trying his best to warm them, and then he’s knocked in the side by an oddly familiar form. He raises his eyes to apologize, and then stops cold as he’s greeted by deep brown eyes, obscured by random strands of hair that dip down over his face.

“Aaron Burr! Sir!”

Of course.

“Hamilton. It’s been a while.” He steps back, brushes the hands off of his shoulders. “I thought you might’ve disappeared on me forever.” Not that he’s complaining.

“Nope.” He pops the end of the word. The cut on his mouth has healed up a bit, dried into a scab, but he’s still poking at it with the tip of his tongue whenever he’s not talking, as rare as that is. “Just busy.” The edge of his smile twitches a little. It’s a small piece of the vulnerability he showed when they were talking in Aaron’s dorm, but he pulls it back together quickly. He lifts his bag higher on his shoulders, and starts to turn away, but pauses. “Aaron, I-” He stops himself, shakes his head for a moment. “I know, I know. I meant Burr.” He turns back, smiles down at him. Aaron is aware, again, of their distinct height difference. Hamilton is several inches taller, but he seems so much smaller in some way. Aaron tries not to think about it too much. Hamilton slides his hands around to the back of his own neck and holds them there, likely trying to warm them. Clearly, his gloves aren’t enough.

“Look, me and my friends are going out for a few drinks in a while.” He shrugs, lifts his hands away from his neck to clasp them together in front of him. “Do you wanna come with?” Aaron does a double-take, stutters like a broken record. “You- You-” He can’t even finish the sentence. Hamilton nods fervently, rolls his hands around each other. “Yeah, spit it out,” he prompts, growing impatient. Aaron puts his hands to his eyes and breathes deeply, the air coming out in front of him in a white cloud. “You want me to go out for drinks with you and your friends?”

“Exactly.” Hamilton nods, steps closer. He shivers, wets his chapped lips. “And your answer?”

“Hamilton,” he scoffs, moving his hand away but closing his eyes, “your friends aren’t exactly fond of me.” It’s not entirely true, but Aaron doesn’t feel like explaining himself to Hamilton, and he doesn’t think he should have to as it is. And while he has a vague feeling that Lafayette might like having him around, mostly he wants to say no because he doesn’t want to deal with Laurens. Every time he thinks about it, he can see the narrowed, contemptuous look in his eyes. He doesn’t know why Laurens dislikes him so much, or what he might have against him, but it stresses him out regardless. He’d really rather not have to face it. Hamilton is still standing there with that stupid, hopeful look in his eyes. “No, Burr, they like you fine. I cleared everything up from the first meeting.” Aaron furrows his brows together. “Cleared everything up?” he repeats dumbly, and Hamilton nods again. “Yeah. In fact, I already told them you were coming.”

“You put me in really awkward positions like that, Hamilton,” Aaron sighs, scratching at his face. The wind is rubbing his face raw and he just wants to get back to his dorm, but Hamilton isn’t letting up. He rolls up on his toes restlessly. Aaron still gives no answer.

“C’mon, Burr. Is it really so wrong of me to expect my friend to come out for drinks with me?” Aaron gives pause at this. Hamilton thinks of him as a _friend_. Personally, Aaron would be hard pressed to call Hamilton his own friend. They really don’t know each other that well. He doesn’t even like Hamilton that much. It’s strange that he’d say it, considering they’ve really only had one interaction in their entire time knowing each other that didn’t end in an explosive argument. Then again, he figures, everything the boy does it strange. Then again, he figures, when he says it, the statement does make Aaron’s heart give an unexpected twist within his chest.

Aaron shakes his head, trying to ward off the feeling. “Do I have any choice?”

“Not really, no,” Hamilton shrugs, shivering again. “So?” Aaron rolls his eyes, but for a reason he can’t quite comprehend, he feels a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Where are we meeting up?” Hamilton’s face lights up, and his teeth push together in his sort of grin. “I can take you,” he offers, stepping in closer. Aaron can feel the vague heat of his body for a moment before he steps back, too. “I appreciate it, but I’m going to go home for a minute before. Change my clothes. Shower, probably.” Something unreadable flits across Hamilton’s gaze, and Aaron really does hate it when he does that, but then he’s nodding. “Oh. That’s fine.” The wide smile stays in its place. “I’ll text you?” Aaron nods back. He’d forgotten that Hamilton has his number. Hamilton makes a noise in the back of his throat. “See you then.” He waggles his fingers at Aaron in a sort of half-hearted wave, pulls his bag tighter to his frame, and then skitters off down the icy sidewalk. Aaron watches after him for a moment, then shakes his head and goes for his dorm. He will never understand Alexander Hamilton.

-

Hamilton has already texted him, several times, when he arrives home. It’s all the same thing, rapid fire ‘are you home yet? are you home yet?’ questions and finally topped off with directions to the place at which they’ll meet. The repetition of the question is not unlike a dog, Aaron thinks. Not that he thinks of Hamilton as a dog, that would be rude, but it’s the bright-eyed, childish excitement he always carries. It gets old fast, but in the rare moments when it isn’t, Aaron kind of likes it about him. He might even call it endearing.

Aaron showers, doesn’t think much about the clothes he pulls on. He figures he looks nice enough, all of his clothes match no matter which way he mixes them. He doesn’t mind anyway. He’s warm, and he’s only going out to see Hamilton’s friends. He doubts they’ll care, either.

He makes his way to the bar, Fraunces, a place tucked away on the far side of campus. It’s near room 219, a room he avoids just for the strange feeling it gives him. He can’t place his finger on why, but it’s a place he tries to avoid. Aaron trusts his gut, and wouldn’t go there at all if he hadn’t already made a promise. He sucks it up, walks by it with his head down and his shoulders tucked up to his ears.

Inside of Fraunces, the scene changes entirely. The eerie feeling almost entirely subsides as he’s bathed in deep, golden light, the sound of glass mugs hitting hollowed wooden tables and excited chatter flooding his ears as the door shuts behind him. It’s warm and inviting, and the environment puts him at ease. He scans over the crowd for a moment, searching for anyone familiar, and it doesn’t take long because Hamilton spots him first and shoots out of his seat, the chair screeching behind him. Aaron resists the urge to cringe, or turn around and leave, makes himself walk toward him despite his better judgement. He doesn’t get to finish the journey alone, because Hamilton has already rushed halfway across the bar to greet him, his face ruddy and his breath scented with alcohol. Apparently, drinking has further inhibited his sense of what personal space is, because he’s clapping his hands on Aaron’s arms, squeezing gently and still not speaking. He just smiles down at Aaron like his life depends on it.

“May I help you?” Aaron asks, his eyebrows flicking up, and Hamilton laughs. The sound rings out loud above the general noise of the bar, and he shakes his head. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” he admits, finally letting go of Aaron’s arms. “The guys are all over here, c’mon.” He turns his back and beckons over his shoulder, and Aaron follows him through a maze of table legs and waiters carrying trays of drinks. As they near the very back corner of the room, the top of Laurens’ head comes into view, and then so does the rest of the table. They all raise their eyes as Hamilton approaches, followed apprehensively by Aaron. Lafayette and Hercules raise their glasses in tandem, some small acknowledgement of Aaron’s presence before they go back to their own conversations. Laurens scowls up at him and keeps talking anyway. Aaron is only slightly shaken by it, but he tries to let it go. That much is easier said than done.

Hamilton pulls out a chair for Aaron next to Laurens, who rolls his eyes but doesn’t complain. Once Hamilton ushers him into the seat, practically shoving, he takes his own beside him. He fits a little too snugly in the small space between Aaron and Laurens, and his shoulders have to be hunched forward to even slide in, but he sits there anyway. Aaron scoots his own chair closer to Hercules.

“Burr, we’ve been discussing you!” Hercules says cheerily, lifting his drink to his mouth. Aaron raises his eyebrows. “Hm?” Lafayette nods, answering for him. “Of course! Would you like a drink?” Aaron shakes his head, waves his hand vaguely in front of him. “No thanks.” When all he gets is a skeptical glance in response, he can’t help the frown that floats onto his mouth. “I’m underage.” There is a moment of silence before they all start laughing, and Aaron feels his face heat up. Hamilton pretends to wipe a tear from his eye, slings his arm over Aaron’s shoulder. “We all are. Laf doesn’t care, he can buy you something.” Aaron shakes out of his grip, begins to seriously consider changing seats. Hamilton is far beyond too touchy tonight. “I still think I’ll pass.” For a moment, Aaron would describe Hamilton’s expression as hurt, but then he shrugs and tosses his other arm over Laurens’ shoulders. As opposed to Aaron, Laurens leans into it.

“So. Where did we leave off when I went to get him?” Aaron side-eyes Hamilton for the comment. He talks like he doesn’t even realize Aaron is still there. It’s a little disquieting. Hercules leans closer in to the table, smiling. “The next protest.” Aaron glances at him too. They’re doing it _again_? Hamilton’s eyes do the tell-tale brighten that they do every time the protests are brought up and he starts prodding at his cut again, likely subconsciously. He nods excitedly. “Oh, of course. Burr? You interested this time?”

“No.” Aaron folds his hands neatly on the table, looks down at them to avoid the annoyed gazes. Hamilton takes in a deep breath like he intends to argue, but decides against it. He tosses his head to the side, laying it atop Laurens’. “Fine. Your choice.” He sighs, snuggles in deeper against his friend. Something painful twitches inside of Aaron. “We didn’t need him anyway,” Laurens pipes up, eyes flitting over to Aaron again. Aaron doesn’t miss the harshness of the comment, but it’s lessened because Laurens sounds legitimately drunk. The rest of his friends are tipsy at the most, words buzzing pleasantly with slight intoxication but Laurens is clearly further gone than the rest. Aaron doesn’t get the chance to question _why_ that might be before he’s talking again. “This is strictly revolutionary squad business.” This time, the sting that might’ve come with the insult is mellowed by distraction. Aaron chokes on what would likely be a giggle and he tries to hide it with his palm. Lafayette raises an eyebrow in his direction, and Aaron can’t resist the urge. “Revolutionary squad?” he quotes, and just hearing it said again makes him laugh. Hamilton is glowing beside him. “I like when you laugh,” he comments off-handedly, and everyone ignores him.

“We call ourselves the revolutionary squad, yeah,” Hercules confirms, knocking his knuckles against the table twice. “Cuz we’re gonna make revolutionary changes.”

“Raise a glass!” That’s Laurens again, the most chipper he’s sounded all night. He twitches like he wants to shoot to his feet, but the weight of Hamilton’s arm grounds him. He settles for thrusting his mug into the air, his drink sloshing out over the sides and onto the table in frothy puddles. The rest of them follow suit and cheer, their glasses tilted precariously in their hands. Aaron watches in silence. When they all finish taking their drinks, they crash their cups back onto the table, strangely in sync with one another. Lafayette wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “If you went to the protest with us, Burr, we could make you a member.” He hiccups. “Like Alexander said, you will have more pull in the social way.” Hamilton beams, sitting up straighter and downright basking under the praise for his idea. Aaron shifts uncomfortably. “What exactly does it require to make me a member?” he asks, clearly avoiding the question at hand. Lafayette seems to register this somewhere in his brain, but the buzz clouds over it. His eyes narrow for a moment, and then he seems to move on. Hercules slaps him on the back and answers for him, again. The way they share a conversation, back and forth, is fairly entertaining to watch. “Not much, really,” he scoffs. Then he raises his eyebrows, lowers his voice for no apparent reason. “I guess Hamilton has to like you.”

“Hamilton likes him plenty,” Hamilton answers for himself in the third person. Aaron feels suddenly uncomfortable; somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers Laurens’ eyes on him again. “I’m so sure,” he hums, and his voice is sickly sweet, definitely condescending. Hamilton shoots Laurens a look and he falls back, curbs his tongue but Aaron still feels very out of place at the table. Even if Hamilton does like him, he clearly doesn’t fit in with his group of friends. He regrets coming out to be with them. He considers leaving, but isn’t sure how to go about it. Wouldn’t it be rude to just stand up and leave? But is there any other way out?

Lafayette is watching him closely, examining him as he goes through these thoughts at a rapid pace. Aaron glances up to meet the stare and then Lafayette’s clouded eyes soften with understanding. He seems to know something Aaron doesn’t. He clears his throat, lifts his glass for a moment and then lets it drop back to the table with a thunk. Everyone turns his way.

“So,” he begins, eyes still on Aaron, “What are everyone’s Thanksgiving plans?”

The table bursts into chatter, all of them leaning in towards the middle and trying to argue their own plans and why everyone else should go along with them louder than the others. Hercules launches into a long list of reasons why everyone should come and stay with him and his family. Lafayette nods just barely, still looking at Aaron. Aaron nods back, dazedly, and then Lafayette jumps into the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Aaron thanks god for Lafayette.

“I think we should all go stay with John’s family,” Hamilton argues, threading his hand through Laurens’ hair. “They’re rich.” He waggles his eyebrows, and John rolls his eyes.

“Alex, if you acted one percent as gay as you usually do within ten miles of my father, he’d never let me see you again.” Laurens pushes at the hand in his hair, but makes no real effort to get it out. Hamilton shrugs. “Well, I think we should go to my house,” Lafayette counters. “I have all the money and none of the blatant homophobia of John’s family.” Hercules opens his mouth to argue, but Lafayette presses a finger to his lips. “ _And_ , I live alone. No little siblings to take care of.” Hercules pouts but mumbles his acceptance of the idea, and the rest of the group does the same. They all toast in agreement, raising their glasses to the middle again. They return them to the table, and then Hamilton’s eyes flick back over Aaron. He turns on him, smiling wide. “And what are _you_ doing for the holiday, Burr?”

He blinks back at Hamilton. His hair has fallen loose of its already sloppy bun, falling over his shoulders in random, fuzzy strands. He’s bitten the scab off of his old cut, and it’s bleeding. Aaron wants him to wipe it away. Wants to wipe it away for him. He shakes himself back into reality, realizing he’s been staring blankly back at him for too long. “I uh. I’m staying in the dorms.” Hamilton’s eyes widen, his jaw falling open and his head shaking. “No!” he answers, stretching the word out long past where it needs to go to make his point. “Aaron, _no_. You _can’t_ celebrate alone.”

“What’s there to celebrate?” he asks, still trying to deflect, and to his surprise, Laurens mumbles his agreement. “He’s right, you know. The death and enslavery of hundreds of natives is no celebrating matter.”

“ _I’m_ celebrating family spirit, Laurens,” Hamilton scoffs, rolling his eyes. “And we can’t let Burr celebrate without us.” Aaron shrugs, and Hamilton scoots his chair closer again, stopping inches from his face. His breath is warm and smells like whiskey. “Aaron, you should- You should come with us. To Lafayette’s.” At that, Lafayette all but leaps up from his chair, taking his mug with him and splashing alcohol onto the table in his excitement. “Of course! Of course he can come.” He only now seems to realize that he’s stood up at all. He laughs shyly, sits back down. “I am just a little ways over, in New York. You should come with us.” Laurens makes a sound in the back of his throat, but doesn’t show his distaste outwardly. Aaron decides he likes him better when he’s drunk. He shakes his head. “No. I’m just going to stay.” He scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly. Aaron is going to New York anyway because he and Theodosia like to travel, but he doubts he’ll be dropping in for a friendly visit. He forces a polite smile to his face. “Thank you, though.” He can barely handle them all in a group for half an hour or so, he doubts a weekend would be a good choice. Lafayette face falls, but he nods back at him. “Alright. You don’t have to come.” He doesn’t press anymore, but Hamilton isn’t done. “Aaron, I promise you’re welcome. You can stay in the guest room with me, if you’re willing to share a bed.” Aaron entertains the thought of sharing a bed with Hamilton for about half a second before tossing it out to never be revisited again. He shakes his head again. “Don't call me Aaron. And no thank you.” He makes sure that his voice is firmer.

“You’re making a good choice, anyway,” Laurens scoffs, draping himself over Hamilton’s shoulder. He presses their cheeks together, looks at him sideways. Aaron braces himself for a cutting remark but none come. Laurens just laughs, and his face lights up and stretches in a way that makes Aaron see exactly what it is that the rest of them see in him. “Alex is a blanket hog.” He turns his face and presses a kiss to Hamilton’s cheek, and Hamilton grins back. Aaron feels a sharp pull in his gut. He ignores it again. “Get a room,” Lafayette hisses, while Hercules mimes gagging at them. Aaron can’t take his eyes off the pair for reasons he can’t quite understand. He kind of wishes he had a drink.

Lafayette turns to him again, never one to leave him out. “Aaron, whether or not you are interested in our protest, I want-” he pauses to hiccup again. “I want to make you an honorary member of the revolutionary squad.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Hercules says, voice a little too loud for the close proximity, and Hamilton slaps the table, laughing again. “You’d drink to anything, Herc.” They all join Hamilton except for Aaron, who’s still looking at Hamilton and Laurens. He wishes he weren’t. Lafayette reaches across the table to touch his jaw, pulling his gaze back towards him. Aaron silently thanks him again for stopping him before it became obvious. Lafayette’s hand stays gently touching his face. “Now, repeat after me, mister Burr.” His voice slurs a little more than it did before. Aaron nods anyway.

“I, state your name.”

“I, Aaron Burr.”

“Solemnly swear that I will-” hiccup “-always fight to get what I want.”

Aaron pauses. He’s about to back out, but everyone is looking at him so expectantly. Aaron’s never been one to let down a crowd. Not when he can do something about it. “Solemnly swear that I will always fight to get what I want.” The lines are all blurred, he figures. They won’t ever really know what he wants. They’ll never know if he’s truthful or not. It’s really not a binding statement. He tries not to think about it too much.

Lafayette grins, takes his hand away. “Perfect. And now you’re one of us!” They all throw back their drinks, still eerily in sync, and then pound them back to the table with a cheer. While they do, Aaron thinks about what a strange sort of introduction to their group it is. Hamilton slings his arm around Aaron’s shoulder again, and this time, he doesn’t shake it off immediately. He hopes he’s made the right decisions. Hamilton’s face is still too close, but he’s not going to move away this time. When the noise settles, they all go back to discussing their plans for Thanksgiving. Aaron listens detachedly while they discuss how they’ll all get there, whether or not they’d all fit in Hercules’ car, whether or not Laurens should be allowed to bring rollerskates. Hamilton’s breath warms one side of Aaron’s face, and he doesn’t like it, but he still doesn’t move him away. There’s another hand on his face, and then Aaron finds himself being turned with a sharp tug. Then he’s almost nose to nose with the boy, his dark eyes clouded with tipsiness. Hamilton smiles his bared smile, his teeth showing almost viciously. Aaron pulls back now, but Hamilton’s hand keeps him relatively close. “So?” he asks after a long moment of staring at him, and Aaron feels his nose wrinkle up despite himself. “So what?” he shoots back, and he’s not entirely sure why he’s whispering. Hamilton’s expression doesn’t even flicker. He rubs his thumb across the curve of Aaron’s jaw, watches his hand move across the skin. Aaron tries not to follow his gaze, but he can’t look away. He isn’t even sure if the others have noticed.

“So what _do_ you want, Burr?” he asks, returning his gaze to Aaron’s. He says it like the question is the simplest thing in the world. Aaron suddenly can’t stand looking into his eyes for another moment. He tears himself out of the hold, shakes Hamilton off and away from him. He tugs his sleeves down violently, straightens himself out just for something to do. “I want you to stop touching me,” he hisses, and Hamilton just keeps smiling. It pisses him off. He turns back to the table, moves his chair closer to Hercules. He wants to make it so Hamilton can’t reach him anymore. He pretends he can’t feel Hamilton’s gaze on his back while he waits out the strange, soupy sort of anger that’s seated itself in his gut. When it subsides, Hamilton is still there, smiling. He ignores it again.

The evening drags on slowly, and mostly, Hamilton doesn’t bother him again. He’s still far too touchy for Aaron’s tastes; he keeps grabbing across the empty air between their seats and asking him to come back, but Aaron chalks it up to the alcohol speaking. Hamilton moves his chair closer again, lays his head over on Aaron’s shoulder, prods at him to get answers when he asks questions. He gets drunker as the night progresses, and while it may have been endearing to someone else, Aaron just gets tired of him. At some point, Hamilton gives up and goes to sit on Lafayette’s lap, crossing his arms and pouting back across the table at Aaron. Lafayette cradles him like an overgrown child, which really, he is. Laurens stays relatively calm for the rest of the night, even as he stops drinking and starts sobering up. He still casts Aaron a harsh glance every now and again, but it’s likely just for good measure, to keep up appearances. Aaron doesn’t mind too much. He’s too busy trying to keep up with the group’s conversations. Everything they say is rapid fire and quickly paced. They speak in the way that Aaron thinks; fast, messy, and incredibly unorganized. It’s dizzying, almost, but he tries his best, finds himself succeeding for the most part. It’s a bit of a rush, really.

“The campus security is a joke,” Laurens huffs, tossing a peanut into his mouth. It bounces off his front teeth.

“No, jokes are funny. They’re just racist and homophobic.” Hamilton tries to do the same with another peanut, and it hits him in the eye, bouncing and rolling away to somewhere on the floor.

“ _Your_ jokes aren’t funny, Hamilton.” Hercules swats Hamilton’s empty peanut shells off the table, flicks them into a little goal that Lafayette is forming with his fingers on the other side. “Bullseye!” Lafayette yells, as if that makes sense in the context. Aaron scoffs. "I'll have to agree with Hercules on that."

“Burr, don’t be like that, you know I’m funny. I’ve made you laugh, remember?” He steals the shells back from the pile Hercules has created in front of himself, tosses them at Aaron’s face. He misses each time, and Aaron can’t tell if this is on purpose or not.

“Alex has a point. If he made you laugh, well then, that must’ve been top-notch humor.” Laurens flips his mug upside down on the table with no apparent reason behind it. It’s just for something to do.

“How exactly does one make Aaron Burr laugh?” Hercules has his empty glass pressed to his mouth, sucked against the skin. It sounds like he’s speaking from underwater.

“Well, we were at his dorm, and I-”

“What were you doing in Burr’s dorm, Alex? Cheating on me?” Laurens flips the mug again, this time for dramatic effect. It clatters against the wood. There’s unspoken words in his expression, but Aaron can’t read him well enough to tell exactly what it is. He lets it go.

“I’m not a committed man, Laurens. I don’t see a _ring_ on this finger.” Aaron steps back out of the conversation at this point.

They’re all over the place, and half the time it’s impossible to tell the difference between Lafayette’s opinion and Hercules’ opinion, because they finish sentences for each other. The conversation slows at random points and becomes easier to follow, and then when the pace picks back up it’s as if they all speak their own language. Aaron is absolutely fascinated by it. As much as he thought he’d never think it, he’s almost enjoying his time with them. It’s certainly strange, indeed.

When Aaron decides it’s time to go, the rest of them decide the same soon after. They all stand at nearly the same time, bundling back up in their coats and gloves and on Laurens, a ridiculous scarf that they all poke fun at. He makes some joke about needing it to cover hickies, and only Hamilton laughs, which makes that stupid spot in Aaron’s skin twist up and ache again. He tells them goodbye, leaves on his own. Three of them head toward the freshman dorms, and Lafayette heads off campus, so Aaron is alone again to trek back across campus. It’s a long walk, cold, and the air is stinging with tiny crystals of ice. He tries to blink through the frost and get home quickly. He collapses on his bed, lays out fully dressed and doesn’t move. He does the same as he always does and thinks over the night objectively. He had a good time, he decides, staring up at the plain ceiling over his bed. He probably wouldn’t do it again if the offer arose, probably won’t do it again, but he had a good time. He thinks this over and over in some half-baked attempt to ward off the thought that’s been rumbling through his head like a wayward freight since it was first said to him. It really doesn’t matter, he decides after a long while of blankness, and he lets the thought flood through him. It’s just an idea, after all. He’s always firmly believed that he can’t be hurt by ideas alone.

What _do_ you want, Burr?

It really doesn’t matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative title for this chapter: Aaron Is Sad, Wimpy, and Making Bad Decisions.
> 
> lafayette is the sweetest boy. laurens is so angry. stay tuned for next time when laurens gets Angrier (and shockingly, gayer!)
> 
> as always, im on tumblr @schuyburr (or @rilexander if ur interested in my main!)
> 
> thank you to everyone who reads, and a special thank you this time the person who reminded me that i love this story and should work on it more often.


	6. refuted

“This is the last time I will see you before Thanksgiving break,” Washington is barking, his hands pulled neatly behind his back. “And so I trust you all to be getting along fairly well with your projects by this point in time.” He starts pacing again, something he does to draw the students’ eyes to him. Aaron tries to do what he usually does and copy down every word, no matter how unimportant, but it’s more difficult now. Hamilton has decided that he needs to sit immediately beside Aaron in class, too, so that they can discuss their project. He’s too close, he’s always too close to him. Aaron can hear him breathing.

“I’m not going to baby you on this. This is a junior level class, and you all shall treat it as such.” He stops pacing, straightens his back. “If you are in this class with me you are an incredibly smart and talented individual. I expect top-quality work from every group in this room.” Hamilton straightens up in his seat, barely holding back his smile. Aaron watches out of the corner of his eye, his pen still moving across the paper.

“So. In regards to this project, I’ve done about all I can for the moment being. You may feel free to leave, or stay and discuss your paper with others in the class. I won’t force you.” He strolls back over to his desk in the far corner of the room and sits. Aaron raises his eyebrows, catches Hamilton doing the same beside him. It’s very unlike Washington to dismiss class early. Still, he raises his hand, waves it in the direction of the door. “You may go.” The room is deadly silent as everyone waits for the first to stand. Washington isn’t the type to give false directions to see who falls for it, but this is dangerous. Everyone is wary of failing him; to look bad infront of Washington is to ruin your entire grade. Besides, everyone just likes him. No one wants to disappoint their favorite teacher. When finally someone in the back of the room dares to inch their way to one of the exits, everyone turns back to look at Washington again. He isn’t even glancing in the direction of the door. He’s more focused on his newspaper, and his legs are crossed casually over each other. The person at the door opens it a crack. The room holds its collective breath.

The person at the door slides out, the door closing behind them with a very unceremonious click.

The room goes mad.

A storm of other people get out of their chairs, crowding for the door. It lasts for maybe three minutes of total commotion. Aaron looks to his side again, and surely enough, Hamilton is one of the people who stayed. He’s buzzing with excitement again, hands clenching on the edge of his desk. He notices Aaron’s gaze and turns toward him, grinning broadly. Aaron doesn’t even have to question what the look means because he knows now, and he wonders when exactly the point came that he would always know. Hamilton is already fumbling around in his bag for his laptop.

“So, I’ve started on the paper,” Hamilton is already beginning to ramble, hands fidgeting with excess energy as he opens the laptop. “And you can feel free to shoot down any of it, but I think I did a pretty good job.” Aaron hums, still not really listening. He clicks his pen closed and then open again absently, just for something to do with his hands. He’s still looking up at Washington, waiting for him to burst out of his chair and scold everyone who tried to leave, congratulate those who stayed in their seat. Washington never really gives Aaron any sort of recognition, so he waits for that much. It doesn’t seem to be coming. Hamilton doesn’t notice that Aaron is distracted, just drags his fingers across the trackpad of his laptop. “Just let me skim over it,” he says to no one in particular, the screen reflecting in his eyes. Aaron tears his eyes away from Washington and watches for a moment, and when Hamilton still hasn’t stopped scrolling, he has to question it. “How much did you write, exactly?” he asks, shifting a little closer in his seat. Hamilton doesn’t miss that, of course he doesn’t, and he whips around so fast that Aaron thinks he must have given himself whiplash. His eyes are lit up entirely independent of his laptop. “Not much really. I’m just rewriting a bit right now.” He pushes his laptop the edge of the desk, and Aaron leans over to glance at it. Hamilton has written maybe seven hundred words at the most, but it’s a good start. Hamilton is downright squirming in his seat as Aaron reads over it, and when he lifts his eyes, the boy is right in front of him. “So?” he asks, still smiling. Aaron shifts away from him.

“It’s good,” Aaron settles eventually, and even at the weak complement Hamilton is glowing. He tugs the laptop back towards him. “Thank you,” he says, and he sounds legitimately thankful. His constant excitement about everything is draining. Aaron rubs at his forehead, tries to revive himself. Staying out late with Hamilton and his friends wasn’t the best way to spend the night. He’s tired, and he gets moody when he’s tired, he knows. And while it technically is Hamilton’s fault that he’s tired, the boy doesn’t deserve to be torn to shreds over it. Aaron counts backwards from ten in his head. Focus.

“So, where are you going next with the argument?” he asks, and Hamilton shifts in his seat again. “Mm-mm.” He shakes his head. “You’ve gotta write some of it, Burr. I’ve read your papers, and you have a different style of writing than me but I think it’ll-”

“How did you read my writing?” He stops Hamilton short, tries to keep his cool. Hamilton shrugs it off easily. “I googled you. There aren’t many people named Aaron Burr.” Aaron opens his mouth to argue, or at least to ask him why he would do that, and is cut off as Hamilton presses a finger to his lips. Aaron considers licking him just to prove a point, but there are still other students in the class and he’d rather that not be what he’s known for, licking the weird, loudmouthed freshman’s hand. He settles, shoves his hand away fiercely and quickly, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. Hamilton just keeps smiling at him. Aaron hates him a little. Or a lot. He hasn’t decided.

“It was saying that it was good, Burr. You’re succinct and persuasive in all your arguments. It’ll help to even out my writing.” Aaron feels himself soften a bit, but he keeps his sleeve at his mouth to prevent Hamilton from doing that again. “It’ll even you out because you tend to write like an angsty teenager.” Hamilton laughs, rolls his eyes almost fondly. Aaron decides he only hates him a little.

“Alright. What’s the next bit we need to cover?” Hamilton chews at his lip, tonguing over the cut again. “Well, I’ve only written through the introduction of the topic, so we could get science-y. If you wanna write about magnets.” Aaron rolls his eyes. “The magnets which you know I specifically do not think fit in with our topic or want to talk about in this paper.” Hamilton throws his hands up in a surrender. “Yeah, no, I know. Just checking.” Aaron shakes his head, sighs down at his desk. “You bother me, you know,” he says, not lifting his head but glancing over at him. Hamilton doesn’t seem to take too much offense, because his smile only gets bigger. “Yeah. I know. Just write what you know, Burr.” He moves his laptop over onto Aaron’s desk, raps at it with a bitten nail. “To work, then.” Aaron rolls his eyes again but hits enter and starts on their second paragraph.

The room is mostly empty, and the quietness makes it harder to focus in some ways. Hamilton never really shuts up; he’s always making some noise, and Aaron can hear every one of them. They all seem magnified through the otherwise silent room. He’s tapping his foot, drumming his fingers, popping his lips and swallowing incredibly loudly, and-

“Hamilton, do you mind?” He looks up from the screen, and Hamilton has definitely moved closer again. His expression is blank despite that. “What?” he asks, innocently, and Aaron shakes his head before turning back to the laptop. Hamilton hums behind him now, and Aaron turns again, ready to strangle him, but Hamilton moves back into his chair. “Hey, Burr?” Aaron is caught off-guard by the call, and he pauses. Hamilton isn’t leaning towards him anymore, but sitting with his back entirely against the seat of his chair, head tossed onto his own shoulder. He’s staring up at Aaron with his awful, unreadable eyes. Aaron can’t look away again, can’t bear to break his gaze. “Yes?”

“I was just going to say, I-”

“Excuse me? May I have your attention please?” Hamilton tears his eyes away and it snaps Aaron out of it, and he turns back to the front of the room with a strange feeling coiling in his gut. He follows Hamilton’s eyes to the new target, the man who’d just spoken. He’s a small man with sandy brown-orange hair, standing on a desk a few rows down. He has a piece of paper held in his shaking hands. When he realizes that he’s gotten what he asked for and everyone is looking at him, his eyes widen and he painstakingly lifts the paper up in front of his mouth as if to hide himself.

“Ahem-” He clears his throat several times, beady eyes darting nervously to the corners of the classroom. He shakes his shoulders out, straightens his back. “Uhm, my name is, uh, Samuel Seabury, and I, uh.” He falters again. His eyes make a straight line towards another boy in the seat next to the desk he’s standing on, panic in his gaze. The boy waves up at him vaguely, shakes his head. Seabury clears his throat again.

“My name is Samuel Seabury, and I present-” he spits the word ‘present’ like it aches on his tongue “-the best of all of the projects, in this class.”

“Oh my god,” someone mumbles behind them. Aaron turns to find Angelica, arms crossed over her chest and a sneer on her face. She clicks her tongue, talking to no one in particular. “Someone tear this dude apart, please.” Aaron can practically see Hamilton perk up as he hears her. He’s already decided that he’s in for a fight, it seems. Aaron puts his hand on Hamilton’s desk anyway, as a warning. He doubts it will work. This should be fun, Aaron thinks. If fun is spelled ‘a disaster of the greatest proportions.’

The boy in the desk beside Seabury shifts again, rests his elbow on his knee and his face on his fist. He stares up almost lovingly. “Go ahead, do continue,” he encourages, his voice thick and distinctly English. Hamilton’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. Aaron does the same. He hadn’t expected the accent.

“Ahem. Our project, is on the saying, ‘kings are all slaves to history.’ And George and I-” he gestures toward the boy again, George, Aaron supposes. George raises his hand, fingers pulled together tightly and twists his wrist slowly in a wave. Seabury beams down at him. “George and I disagree wholeheartedly.” Hamilton’s mouth twitches at the edge, his eyes alight with an oxymoron of emotions; he looks angry, but entirely overjoyed about being angry. Aaron leans over and drums his fingers on Hamilton’s desk to remind him to stop and think before he gets too fired up. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Kings are in no way slaves to their history. The quote implies that kings must bear the burden and mistakes of the predecessors, and it’s simply not true.” Hamilton’s hand shifts forward on his desk, his eyes narrowing. “Hey-” he starts angrily, but Aaron pulls his lips together tightly, shakes his head. He sticks his arm out in front of Hamilton to block him from moving. “No,” he hisses, meeting Hamilton’s eyes. “Let him be.” Hamilton’s gaze is wild and fiery and it stays that way, but he stops moving.

“Most kings, historically, have been incredible rulers, and to imply that they haven’t is to play a very dangerous game.” Seabury sounds far more confident than he did in the beginning. He moves like he’s singing, his shoulders rising and falling methodically with the rhythm of his words, his mouth curled up into a smile. George watches him gleefully, smiling in a smug way. Hamilton’s shifts again, his jaw setting back angrily. “Kings that exist now have no burden to carry. Many past kings, actually, have been kind, loving, fair rulers.” Hamilton shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowing. As much as Aaron wants him to stay quiet, he agrees with what Hamilton is thinking; this is likely the stupidest argument he’s ever heard. They’re taking it too literally. The saying isn’t about kings, but they’re reading in too far. He wants to grab them by the shoulders and shake sense into them. Aaron glances up at Washington. His eyes have raised above his newspaper, and he’s looking at Seabury and George, but not doing anything. He just waits. Aaron waits, too.

Seabury is growing giddy with power as the entire room looks up at him in dumbfounded silence that he seems to take as encouragement. He tucks his paper behind his back, going entirely off-script. He holds a finger up to point vaguely at the class, no real direction in his movements. “In fact, a king is likely a better choice for every country. Certainly better than a democracy like we have here, as a set line of people to serve us can better be trained to care for their country-”

“What the fuck do you mean, a better choice?” Hamilton shoves Aaron’s hand away, leaping out of his seat. Aaron scrambles after him, tries to pull him back, but it was too late the moment Hamilton opened his mouth. Hamilton is already out of reach, leaping over a desk to get to Seabury faster. Behind him, Angelica gives a sigh that sounds almost relieved. Aaron has to try fairly hard to not turn on her.

“In what way would a king better America? A monarchy? We’re already fucked as it is, you know.” Aaron follows the sound to find Hamilton, standing to the side of Seabury, hands cupped around his mouth to make him louder. Hamilton’s voice is fierce and commanding, even more so than Seabury’s bravest tone. Even so, Seabury scoffs down at Hamilton. Hamilton still doesn’t shut up, truly, in his spirit. When he doesn’t, Seabury shoots an apprehensive look down at George. George stays stone faced, shakes his head. Seabury seems to understand whatever it is he’s saying, keeps talking over Hamilton. In return, Hamilton keeps talking over him.

“As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted-”

“Are you fucking joking? Are you seriously implying we should revert our country to the way it was pre-revolutionary war?” Hamilton doesn’t sound angry so much as appalled now, his face flushing. Washington shifts in his chair, lays his paper on the table. Hamilton doesn’t notice.

“A king,” Seabury continues, getting louder, “is the proper and appropriate choice for all countries-”

“You can’t write a paper on why we should take America two hundred plus years back in time. You can’t do that and then even have the audacity to say it’s the best paper in the class.” Hamilton cuts himself off, shaking his head and staring up at Seabury with an absolutely disgusted expression. “You two are idiots.”

“I don’t have to take that from you, you rabble!” George’s accented voice rings out and he’s standing from his seat. He slams his hands atop his desk furiously, his silky jacket rumpling with his movements. Hamilton coos at him mockingly, takes a step closer. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, I don’t need to be called an idiot by the man who believes he’ll really change anything by hosting his moronic protests.” Aaron feels his own jaw drop, and Hamilton flares. His fists bunch at his sides. “Shut the fuck up, moneybags.” His voice is deadly calm.

“You won’t change anything the way you carry on. It’s much harder than you seem to think it is.” Hamilton doesn’t reply. His balled fists twitch tighter, and then loosen. “You’re nothing but a lowly immigrant,” George carries on, his voice so sweet that it’s mocking. He’s smiling even, his eyes glittering under the fluorescents. He beckons Hamilton closer, and for some reason he follows, the two mere inches from each other. George sneers. “Now get out of my face.”

“Fuck you,” Hamilton bites back, stepping away again. He shakes his head like he’s thinking, comes up with nothing. Instead, he repeats it. “Fuck you.”

“Whoreson.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hamilton warns again, and the spot under his eye twitches. Aaron recognizes what’s happening and starts to rise from his seat. His legs feel numb. Angelica says something behind him and it sounds like a warning, but he doesn’t hear it.

“Faggot.” And then Hamilton isn’t on his feet anymore because he’s sailing through the air, and he lands atop George’s desk. “Say it again. Say it fucking again, you coward-” And Aaron is running, he’s not sure of when he started moving exactly, but he’s moving and he’s at Hamilton’s side. Time moves strangely, and his hands are on Hamilton’s hips and he’s pulling him away. Hamilton is roaring, his arms are flying wildly through the air and Seabury is off the desk he’d jumped on in the very beginning, kneeling next to his friend. Because George is bleeding, Aaron realizes, cupping his hands under his nose and trying to remove his expensive coat at the same time. At some point, Hamilton must have hit him, because his nose is hanging crooked on his face and bleeding and he’s swearing under his breath. He can’t raise his voice because the pain is breaking in his throat, taking the form of varying tones of whines. Still, Hamilton keeps swinging, his hands tight in fists while Aaron pulls him away, wraps his arms around him. They’re too close to each other, entirely too close, but if Aaron doesn’t stop him, who will? What else is there to do?

“Alexander, please, Alexander, please, stop, stop, Hamilton, stop-” Aaron is rambling, he doesn’t think as he speaks, he squeezes his arms around Hamilton’s middle. Hamilton’s swings slow down as Aaron talks but he’s still going, still struggling in the grip, still spewing threats-

“What is the meaning of this?” Aaron whips around to see Washington, risen from his seat with his hands on his hips. The room goes silent. Washington marches across the room and shoos Seabury away from George, crouching to examine the damage. He tilts George’s head back gently, George moaning all the while. Washington makes a hmph noise in his throat, straightens back up again. “It’s not broken,” he informs the whimpering boy, and then he turns on Hamilton, his eyes hard. He still doesn’t address him, though. “Burr, sir,” he says instead, and Aaron snaps to attention. His voice is gentle but still commanding, and Aaron meets his eye. He can’t image what Washington wants with him. When he just stares back, Washington raises his eyebrows in question and makes a wide gesture with his hands. “Please, uh. Let mister Hamilton go.” Aaron feels his face warm up as he releases his grip around Hamilton’s waist. He’d entirely forgotten that he was even holding him. He steps away in a daze. Time resumes at it’s normal pace. Hamilton stumbles out of his arms, grabbing at his shirt and tugging it away from his body, breathing hard. His teeth are bared, but not in a smile. He’s snarling.

“Seabury. Hanover.” Washington sighs, rubs the crease between his brows. “I cannot say I agree with you or the basis of your paper, but it’s not within my rights to deny you your right to say it.” Just as Seabury starts to smile, and George tries to look back at Washington over his crooked nose, Washington clears his throat. “I can, however, change your topic. Perhaps give you something you’re less attached to.” Their faces fall, and Washington doesn’t even pretend to care. “Aaron, get someone in here to take a closer look at Hanover’s nose.” He pauses, takes another look at Aaron’s wide, blank stare, and changes his mind. “Never mind. Never mind, I’ll do it. Everyone else, I recommend you leave, unless you want your names in the report.” He narrows his eyes, gives Hamilton and George both a look that is anything but friendly. “And there will be a report.” The remaining bit of the class all rises, making a beeline for the door. No one chooses to stay. Hamilton is getting antsy as his adrenaline rush runs out, and he realizes Washington still hasn’t addressed him. He shoots Aaron a glance. Aaron looks away.

“I’m too old for this,” Washington mutters under his breath, to none of them in particular. He puts his hand on Seabury’s shoulder. “You may go. I’ll send your new topic to you via email.” Seabury nods and scampers away, not pausing for a moment. George watches him go. “George, go wait in your dorm. Someone will be up.” He turns on Aaron again. “And I believe I already told you to leave, Burr.” Aaron feels his eyes widen and he gives a small nod, unable to speak. As he hurries toward the door, he wonders briefly why fate seems to hate him; he’s tired, he’s in a bad mood, Hamilton is constantly causing him trouble and Washington only ever acknowledges him when he’s in that trouble. Over the chatter of his mind, he hears Washington again. “And Hamilton?”

“Sir?” Hamilton’s voice is uncharacteristically small.

“Meet me inside my office.” He hears Washington’s heels click away behind him. Hamilton’s footsteps don’t follow, and he must be standing there, doing nothing. Aaron puts his hands on the door.

“Burr?” His voice is still small and weak, but it’s clearly audible in the silence of the lecture hall. Aaron pushes the door out and leaves. When he gets outside, he looks back at the building, and something pulls at him beneath his skin. He stops walking, shivers against the cold. For some reason that he doesn’t quite understand, he waits.

Hamilton is in there for a long time. Long enough that Aaron starts walking in circles. He’s never paced before, thought it was useless and better things could be done with nervous energy, but he’s pacing regardless. The wind is wild, whipping his coat back away from his body and freezing him. It’s getting late, and Hamilton is still nowhere to be found. When pacing does nothing for him, just like he expected it to, Aaron sits on the steps and waits. He’s good at waiting, but the silence is overwhelming.

“Burr.”

He jumps onto his feet, almost falling over as he tries to catch his balance. Hamilton is there behind him, and he looks legitimately surprised that Aaron is there, too. Aaron wants to hold him again, for some odd reason. He doesn’t. “Hamilton,” he responds in the same tone, tilting his head up slightly to look at him. Hamilton takes a deep breath and doesn’t speak. Aaron’s hands twitch, desperate to comfort him again. He doesn’t. “I’m sorry.”

Hamilton does a double-take, and his tight expression falls into confusion. “What?” he asks, his eyes narrowed in questioning, and Aaron is glad just to have made him show some emotion beyond the numbed look that’s been present on his face since Washington first called on him. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I held you back. I understand.”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t kill him for talking to me like that.” Hamilton makes a bitter sound that might’ve been a laugh in a different moment. Aaron doesn’t press, and Hamilton seems let down by that. His head droops toward the ground. “I just- Sometime I wish there was a war, you know?” It’s Aaron’s turn to give him a confused look. Hamilton shrugs it away shyly. “Just. Something. Something to make them realize. So I could prove myself. Prove that I’m worth more than any of them ever bargained for.” Hamilton still sounds small. He still sounds upset.

“You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone.” Aaron feels an unwelcome tenderness in his chest for Hamilton. He doesn’t want to be so affected by his pathetic tone. He doesn’t want to feel so weak for him. He is, though. He’s being softened. Hamilton shrugs again. “I do. I have to prove myself to everyone.” He takes another deep breath, and this time he continues. “They shipped me out from the Nevis, yeah? In the Caribbean. That’s where I was born. There was a storm, and it…” He trails off, eyes scanning over Aaron’s face as if looking for something. Whatever it is, he doesn’t find it, and he drops his eyes again before continuing. “And they sent me here so I could help.” Hamilton turns back to the door, stares at it blankly. “And I’m not helping. I’m not doing anything. I can’t change anything.”

“Hamilton…” Aaron sighs, because he doesn’t have anything else to say. He crosses his arms to try and alleviate the need to comfort him. Hamilton wheels back around, intense for a sudden moment before his shoulders slump and he’s small again. “Washington told me he might have to drop me from the class, you know that? That’ll set me back a full two years, Burr. And there’s not enough time.” He stares desperately into Aaron’s eyes. “There’s never enough time.”

Aaron doesn’t know what to say. His hands squeeze around his own biceps aimlessly, trying to wring out all the built up sadness he feels for the boy in front of him. If Hamilton drops the class, they won’t see each other anymore. Not like they do now, anyway. If he’d been offered the opportunity to never see Hamilton again a week ago, he would have accepted it. Now, the very idea makes his skin ache. If Hamilton drops the class, he’ll have to write their paper alone. He’s not entirely certain he could; Hamilton is right, their writing styles mesh well. If Hamilton drops the class, he’ll run out of time. Aaron doesn’t know if Hamilton is running out of time just as fast as he seems convinced he is, but it’s still a threat. Time could always run out. He just stares back at him, and finally, shakes his head. “There’s always more time, Hamilton.” It might be a lie. Aaron isn’t sure. Hamilton doesn’t respond, but he smiles a little. And that’s enough.

They stand there in silence for what feels like forever, but it can’t be more than a minute. Finally, Aaron feels calmed enough to release the grip he has on his arms. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, holding his hands out in front of his chest in a shrug. Hamilton’s eyes widen by a fraction. “You’re underage,” he states, just pointing out the obvious. “You’re only nineteen.” Aaron nods. “Eighteen, actually.” It’s strange to say it out loud. Aaron doesn’t think much about how young he is, because his mind feels old. He had to grow up fast after his parents died. Aaron begins to wonder if Hamilton had to do the same. For as young as he seems, Hamilton is just barely younger than Aaron if even that, and he’s alone too. Aaron tries not to think about it.

“Coffee. Let’s get coffee. You need to stop thinking for a minute.” Aaron thinks he needs to stop thinking, too. Hamilton stares at him, and the thing that happens when he thinks deeply happens again, and his eyes flicker brilliantly with something that Aaron can’t read. His smile spasms slightly at the edge, and then it spreads until it’s open wide, wide, wide. He nods. “That would be nice.” He tugs on the neck of his sweater with one hand, like he’s straightening an invisible tie. Aaron just smiles back.

“Smile more,” he offers for no reason that he can give a name to. Hamilton looks at him immediately, and Aaron has to drop his eyes away. He’s said a little too much, he figures, and he feels his face flush. He chances a look back up at him, and just the expression on Hamilton’s face makes the momentary embarrassment worth it. 

They walk briskly and without speaking, just shuddering in the cold and trying to see through the dark. It’s not snowing but hailing, tiny shards of ice pelting them from above. Aaron leads for once and takes him to the nearest place that he knows sells coffee. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t Aaron’s favorite place, or that it’s set to close fairly soon. It only matters that when Hamilton steps inside, he’s still smiling.

Hamilton brushes the ice off his shoulders. He looks up at Aaron for a moment. “Go sit,” he prompts, pushing his palms at Aaron’s chest. “Go sit. I’ll order.” Aaron shakes his head, moves Hamilton’s hands away. He still doesn’t want to touch him. “You don’t know how I take my coffee.” Hamilton rolls his eyes, waves his hand vaguely. “I can guess. You’ll like it, I promise.” Aaron gives him a skeptical look. “I don’t trust that,” he admits, and Hamilton’s eyes gleam with that blank nothingness again. Aaron wishes he’d stop doing that.

“Please?” Hamilton asks, and he pushes out his bottom lip in a pout, batting his eyelashes. Aaron feels his face heat up and steps back shakily, pulling his hands behind him. He’s almost embarrassed by it, but he listens to Hamilton and walks to a table. Once he sits, he finds Hamilton still staring up at him, almost dreamily. Aaron looks away immediately. That liquidiy-warm feeling has returned to his stomach, and it has to be anger. There’s no other way to explain it. Hamilton waves back at him. He wants to punch the table.

“They’ll bring it to the table.” Hamilton is back again, his hands on the back of Aaron’s seat. He drags his fingertips along the top of the chair as he passes by and sinks into the seat beside him rather than across the table. Aaron watches him warily. Hamilton’s face is still reddened, and as he lays his hand out on his knee, Aaron can see a smudge of blood on his knuckles. Hamilton notices him looking and smiles shyly. He folds his hands again, covers the spot.

“So. I was thinking.” Aaron looks away from his hands and back up to his face, eyebrows raised. “You start a lot of your sentences like that, you know.” Hamilton nods. “Yeah. Still. I was thinking, we should finish our paper.” He pauses, and then adds on, “Tonight.” Aaron drops his eyebrows, scowls back at him in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“No, not even a little.” He chews the inside of his mouth for a moment of silence, unfolding his hands to rub at the spot of blood on his knuckles. He doesn’t look up as he continues. “If Washington is going to drop me from the class, you’ll have to do the project alone. Have you thought about that?” It’s clearly rhetorical, so Aaron doesn’t respond. He’s thought about it a lot, actually. He really doesn’t want to, but he has. Hamilton shakes his head. “And if we finish it tonight, we can turn it in after break. But we won’t see each other again after tomorrow, because it’s our last day.” He licks his thumb, rubs it on the bloody patch of his other hand. “If we do it, it’ll show him that I’m worth keeping around.”

“He’s not going to drop you because you’re not worth it, Hamilton. If he does, it’s because you nearly broke George’s nose.” Hamilton tosses his head against the back of his seat, his arms loose at his sides. “I know. I know.” He lifts his head to look at Aaron again. “I just want to finish it. I can’t stand the idea of not finishing it.”

“You’ll get to finish it, but we aren’t going to finish it tonight.” Aaron takes pity on the boy. He looks small again, squeezed back into his seat and looking at Aaron in a way that is almost pleading. Aaron doesn’t know what Hamilton wants, but he knows that he wants him to stop looking at him like that. He laces his fingers together and tries to think of a compromise. “Let’s just discuss it, okay? Not actually write it, but just discuss.” Hamilton hesitates, but nods eventually. “Alright. Let’s.” He puts his chin atop his knees, holds his hands out to motion Aaron to speak. He doesn’t know what Hamilton wants him to say, but he speaks for him anyway.

They talk for a long while. Hamilton is smart, as always, his voice loud and convincing in a way that makes him sound like he always knows what he’s talking about. Aaron is calmer in his arguments, and Hamilton was definitely right. When they speak together, it works like the steps of a dance. Hamilton has a little more flourish, but Aaron’s is easier to execute in the end. Hamilton’s fingers drum the table like he wants to be holding a pen or typing. It’s almost as if he can’t hold still. Aaron swats at the air around his hand, not daring to touch him. Hamilton’s hand stops tapping, and he gives Aaron a look. Aaron shrugs. “Stop. You need to relax a little.”

A waitress comes by and sets two drinks on their table, judging them with her gaze. Hamilton is still curled into himself, his knees pressed to his chest. She walks away, still shooting looks back at them over her shoulders. Aaron gives her an apologetic smile, but Hamilton doesn’t even seem to notice. “I can’t relax, for the most part.” He looks at Aaron over the tops of his knees. “Sometimes. But it’s hard.” Aaron nods. “I know.” He takes a sip of his coffee, wrinkles his nose. It’s entirely too sweet. He keeps drinking it anyway.

“And the problem is, I can’t stop talking. I can’t help it, really. Talking is all I’ve got.” His mouth twitches up into a small smile. “They say I’m good with my tongue, you know?” That uncomfortably hot anger in Aaron flares up again. He ignores it. “And sometimes, I just get over-excited.” He scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I shoot off at the mouth. I just- so much is happening. And I’ve never had friends before. Not like this, anyway.” He pulls one hand from his face, his eyes wide. “They’ll do anything for me, you know, and then.” He pauses, takes the other hand off of his eye and looks right at Aaron. “And then there’s you.” Aaron tilts his head but doesn’t even have to ask, because Hamilton is pulling himself forward in his chair, facing towards Aaron again. “You’re a mystery. I can’t figure you out. I can understand almost everything, but not you. It pisses me off.” He furrows his brows, looks at Aaron like he’s trying to see directly through him. “Why not you?” Aaron stares blankly back at him. He can’t look away. He doesn’t know what to say because he isn’t sure why not him. Worse, he knows exactly what Hamilton means. Hamilton eludes him still, he can’t figure out a thing about this boy. It’s strange for someone so open to remain such a closed book. Aaron isn’t sure why, either.

“I don’t know.” Hamilton’s voice is loud and snaps Aaron back out of it. Hamilton slams his cup back to the table, stretching his arms above his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m ready to go.” He turns back to Aaron, a stiff smile on his face again. Aaron can’t help but wonder if it is faked or not. “Thanks for the coffee, Aaron. I needed it. I’m gonna work on our project when I get home. I still think we can get it done before Thanksgiving.” Aaron finds himself standing too, putting his own glass down on the table. “It’s dark. I’ll walk you.” Hamilton’s smile goes from lazy to definitely real. “Because your escort is more trustworthy than our campus security?” The joke is dark, but Aaron smiles. Hamilton smiles back. The joke along with his bared teeth is enough proof for Aaron. They walk out into the darkness together.

Hamilton’s dorm is closer than Aaron’s. It’s dark and icy, but Hamilton seems to know the way easily, and he’s grabbing onto Aaron’s sleeve every time he stumbles. The bothersome feeling of anger within him stirs every time Hamilton gets that close to him, but it’s ignorable enough. They arrive in what feels like too short of a time, and Hamilton pauses before pulling his key out of his pocket. He turns to Aaron, his shoulders shuddering to keep away the cold. “Hey, Burr. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Aaron wraps his arms around his own waist to keep out the chill that’s drifting up his shirt. “What’s that?” Hamilton tugs his sleeves down over his hands. “I wanted to ask if you’d come and stay at Lafayette’s with us over Thanksgiving.” Hamilton shrugs and looks down at his feet, scuffing the ground with his toe. 

“Hamilton, I already said no.” Hamilton nods, holds his hands up to stop him. “I know. Just hear me out.” He takes his key from his pocket and and starts to unlock the door, looking back at Aaron from over his shoulder. “It’s just gonna be me, Laf, John, and Hercules. Maybe the Schuyler sisters.” He pauses and then his eyes light up, he nods to himself. “You know Angelica, right? She’ll be there. I’ll make sure she’s there.” Aaron’s brow creases. He can’t figure out how Hamilton knows that he knows her, but he’s right. Either way, Aaron shakes his head. “I can’t. I have plans.”

“If your plans change then.” Hamilton crosses his arms and he pouts a little. “Just- Let me give you the address, and Laf’s phone number. Let me do that much.” Aaron wants to say no, but it’s hard when Hamilton is looking at him like that. Before he knows what he’s doing, Hamilton has his phone in his hands, typing an address and phone number into his notes. Hamilton hands it back with a wide grin, his teeth pressed together tightly. “Thank you.” He gives the phone back to Aaron, his hand lingering a bit too long. He puts his hand on the doorknob. He blinks back at Aaron for a long moment, and as Aaron opens his mouth to say goodnight, arms are around him. Hamilton’s arms. Hamilton is hugging him, and he’s warm at the middle and squeezing fairly tight, fingers rubbing gently across his back. Aaron freezes. Hamilton’s face is ducked down into the crook of his neck and vice versa. He smells nice, Aaron thinks absently, and then immediately pushes the thought out of his head. He starts to wonder whether or not he should hug back but it’s too late and Hamilton is pulling away, hands still on his back. He’s still smiling.

“Goodnight, Burr.” He rubs over Aaron’s skin one more time before letting go, opening the door and going inside. The door clicks behind him. Aaron stares after him, his heart thundering. The hot anger returns, swirling and running through his veins. Only, it clearly isn’t anger this time. In fact, it must have not been anger the other times, either. And then Aaron realizes with a little shock that he’s just been blushing. 

_Oh_ , he thinks, the heat running all the way up into his face. His chest aches in the way it’s done so often recently, and only now does he understand what exactly is going on. He wipes his hand across his forehead, feeling suddenly too warm. He stares blankly ahead at the closed door of Hamilton’s room. _Oh_ , he thinks again, his mind mostly numb within his head. _So that’s what that feeling was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! MUCH! JUST! HAPPENED!!!
> 
> several things: one, i loved punching king george in the face. two, i love the still slightly implied homoerotic relationship between georgey and seabury. three, aaron is starting to notice the Gay which clearly resides in him for hamilton.
> 
> also...it's been two months since an update. ahem. 2 explain myself...i got a girlfriend. i think that's all we need 2 know
> 
> leave a comment, kudos, or a bookmark for my eternal love. i missed this story a lot. i'm @veronicasawyurr on the tumble. 


	7. down for the count

When Aaron wakes up in the morning, it is to incredible silence. He’s confused for a moment before he realizes that the absence is his neighbors on the floor being gone, and it clicks into place in his head. Thanksgiving break has begun, and Aaron is alone.

He doesn’t mind, for the most part. There’s still things to do, despite most everything on campus being closed. He has work to do, and that takes his mind away from the quietness. He can’t stop thinking about his goodbye to Hamilton last night, the way his heart had picked up pace and shook his chest from the inside out. He can still feel Hamilton’s arms around him, gently tracing his fingers over Aaron’s shoulders. He wishes Hamilton hadn’t done that. He liked it better before they ever touched each other. So, he works. He doesn’t have to go into work until the next day, and so it’s just a matter of distracting himself until then. Hamilton plagues his thoughts entirely, just as he’s done for weeks now, and Aaron has grown fairly tired of it. He relishes in the idea of not seeing him for four days straight, but at the same time, it starts that terrible feeling in his stomach again. He can’t avoid thinking about the boy forever, and he can’t sit staring into space to stave it off. He works on their paper instead. When he finishes his paragraph, he leaves it open but the cursor blinking off into blankness. It’s Hamilton’s turn to write a paragraph.

It takes the better part of the day, but almost all of his work gets finished. He’s worked on all his assignments for his other classes, he did all the reading, he’s mostly caught up. He’s always been good at meeting deadlines, despite how much he stresses over them, and it’s because he works so smoothly. Aaron doesn’t let anything distract him. Nothing but Hamilton, that is, and Hamilton is doing a truly excellent job of distracting him. Once his work is done and he can’t even focus on that anymore, the silence is honestly bothersome. There aren’t even any texts or phone calls for him to return, and so he’s forced to think about Hamilton hugging him, and what on earth that could’ve meant. They aren’t really friends, and even if they were, Aaron doesn’t _have_ friends like that. Of course, he does have Theodosia, and when they can see each other over summer, Bellamy is a hugger. Some people just like hugs, he reasons to himself. It’s likely nothing, but that doesn’t stop his mind from racing. He can hardly sleep that night because every time he closes his eyes, he sees Hamilton smiling at him. He could stop and think about why that is, too, but he isn’t certain that he wants to know.

When he goes into work the next morning, Theodosia can tell something is off immediately. She can always tell, but Aaron had hoped she’d misread him just this once. Of course, she doesn’t. He’s tying his apron around his waist and suddenly she’s beside him, hand on his shoulder and eyes narrowed, lips pushed into a pout. Aaron sighs, already knowing what’s coming. She can read him, but he can read her just as well. She pokes at his cheek. “Where’s your smile, buddy?”

“Must’ve left it at home today,” he mutters, not meeting her gaze. She lets out a loud huff of breath. “Come on, Aaron.” He shakes his head, turning towards her. “I dunno, Theo. What’s on the agenda today?”

“Fine, mister moody. Someone bought a wedding cake and they want it _ridiculously_ soon, so we’ve gotta start on that.” She doesn’t show it outwardly, but she sounds hurt. Aaron feels bad about it. He doesn’t know what to tell her. Even he doesn’t know what’s upsetting him, but there’s a tight knot in his chest and he just wants it to go _away_. He figures if he ignores it, it might work. It hasn’t yet.

“Alright. Am I baking or decorating?” She scoffs, immediately shifting back into her usual mood. “Decorating. We both know you burn half of everything you make.” He puts on a weak smile, more for her sake than his own. She seems halfway convinced by it. “Haha,” he deadpans, tugs on a pair of gloves. “Tell me what I need to do.” 

“Lots of roses, banners, and birds. Gold and white. Super cliche, super easy. I’ll mostly just have you running register.” Aaron nods distractedly, screwing a tip onto his the piping bag in his hands. She notices that too and is right behind him again. “Alright. Spit it out, Aaron.” He glances back at her, pulling his lips up into a tight line. He’d be tempted to spit if it were anyone else, anyone but Theodosia, but he likely wouldn’t anyway. It’s just an idea, not something he’d act on. Most things are like that. She frowns at him. “Aaron, something is clearly wrong. Tell me what’s up.”

“It literally _is_ nothing. I have nothing to say.” She gives him a look that clearly reads that she thinks he’s full of shit, but she steps away. “Alrighty, then. I’m gonna go start on the cake.” She pops the end of her sentence as punctuation, then points finger guns at him. “I’ll come back out when you’re ready to stop being an asshole.” She twirls majestically on her heel, and then disappearing through the swinging doors of the back room. Aaron watches after her. He thinks about going after her, but he ultimately decides against it. He pulls out a sheet and starts forming golden banners on it. He focuses on that for a while.

“Alright, screw it.” The doors slam back open, hitting the counter on both sides of the double door. Aaron turns back to find Theodosia standing there, and she has flour smudged up along her face. Her shoes slap the floor loudly as she marches in, and her hands are on her hips. “What is _wrong_? I can’t stand seeing you upset, Aaron.” Aaron can’t help but smile at her comment. As much trouble as she gives him, she is his best friend. She notices the smile and then her anger drops into confusion. “What the fuck? I came out here because I thought you were upset. And now you’re smirking at me.”

“Can’t help it. You make me smile.” Theodosia gets a sort of tenderness from him that no one else has ever been able to draw out. No one but Hamilton on occasion. He shoves the thought away, hopefully for good. She rolls her eyes at him, but a fond smile pulling at the corners of her mouth gives her away. “Alright, alright. You know how to get to my heart, you big jerk.” She holds her arms open, beckons him in. “Hug?”

“Air hug,” he counters, showing off his hands, spotted with gel and frosting. Theodosia nods in agreement, and they mime a hug from across the room. She lets out a breath that sounds almost relieved, wipes at the flour on her face with the back of her hand. It only serves to spread more across her cheek. “Now tell me what’s wrong or I’ll have to fight you.”

Aaron sighs. What exactly is wrong? He’s not entirely certain. He guesses that it must have something to do with being left without friends at the holidays, but he’s never felt lonely before. But his stomach is constantly twisting itself into knots and bows, and it can’t be anything else. There’s no other explanation left for him. After a long pause, he looks at his feet and settles for, “I’m bored.”

“Welcome to adult life, sweetheart.” Theodosia laughs. Aaron shrugs, lifting one half of his mouth to mime the shrug. “I dunno. Just…” His eyes roam around the floor, and he can hear her take in a deep gasp. “Oooh.” There’s a softer slapping noise as she crosses the room without marching, and then her feet are right next to Aaron’s. “I recognize that look. This is about that Hamilton kid.”

“What?” He raises his eyes to find her already smiling at him. She nods, her arms crossing. “You get this _look_ in your eyes whenever you complain about him. That’s what it is, right?” Aaron feels his face flame. He doesn’t know what look exactly she’s talking about, but he figures it has something to do with that constant pulling at his insides. He leans back against the counter, his eyes still widened in shock. “No,” he responds defensively, but when she just keeps smiling at him, he falters. “Or yes. No. I mean-” he stops short of finishing the sentence, shaking his head. She’s right. Of course she is. “Damn it, Theo.” Her eyebrows raise. “Spill it, Aaron.” He keeps shaking his head, pulls his gloves off. “Alright. Yeah.” He puts his gloves on the counter with a plasticy slap. “You’ve caught me. It’s Hamilton.” She smiles knowingly, rolls her hands around each other to motion him to continue. Aaron chews on his lip, feeling his usual calmness melting away rapidly.

“He invited me to spend Thanksgiving with him and his friends in New York.” Theodosia’s mouth drops open and Aaron waves his hands, shaking his head quickly. “I said no! I’m not, because I’m spending it with you.” Theodosia scoffs. “No, just, what do you _mean_ he invited you to spend Thanksgiving with him? I thought you hated the dude.” Aaron nods, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. She’s right, but he’s not sure of how to explain any of the events that have transpired since Hamilton first showed up at the bakery. It’s been a lot, to say the least. He settles for holding a hand to his forehead and looking to the side. “It… It’s a long story, Theo. The point is, I feel bad.”

“Why feel bad? You had plans. You told him so.” Aaron rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but he had his heart set on it, and I turned him down. And also-” he breaks off, considering what he’s going to say. Finally, he bucks up and decides to really tell her what’s on his mind. He drops his voice, his face warming again. “He _hugged_ me.” Theodosia’s eyebrows crinkle together. “And?” Aaron doesn’t respond but stares back at her, and then she seems to notice the vague coloring on his skin. She smirks. “Ah. I see.” She sighs, dropping her elbows to the counter beside him. She tilts her head back to look at him upside down. “I’m giving you the next three days off, Aaron.”

“What are you talking about? I’m the only employee that stayed over break.” Aaron grabs her shoulder and spins her around, and she’s already grinning at him. “Oh yeah, but you’re not staying.” It takes him an embarrassingly long moment to understand what exactly she means. When it finally sinks in, he feels his face drop. He takes a step back. “Theodosia…”

“Come on, Aaron, you spent last year with me. It’s alright.” He shakes his head. “Theo, no. I told you I would stay with you.”

“And I’m telling you to go to New York to be with them.” She waves him away. “And if you don’t go, I’ll be more upset than if you do.” He puts his hands on her shoulders again. “I don’t want you to be upset at all.” Theodosia shakes her head back at him. “Aaron, sweetie, I’m not upset.” She kisses his cheek. She pulls back, rubbing a knuckle up his cheek. He wonders if it leaves a streak of flour in its wake. “But, you clearly have developed a crush on this boy, so I-” Aaron feels his eyes shoot open. “I have _not_ ,” he hisses, his eyes darting without his permission, as if to survey for any possible eavesdroppers. That horrible twisting in his gut has come back. His heart is racing as she stares back at him, an eyebrow cocked up. She’s still touching his cheek, so she must feel the flush in his face. She nods slowly, pulling her hand back. “You haven’t?” she asks incredulously, and Aaron wants to absolutely disappear. He gives a tiny nod, unable to do much more. “No. I do not have a crush on Hamilton.”

“Alright, guess I read you wrong.” Theodosia never reads him wrong. “Sorry.” She tucks her hands into the pockets of her apron. “It really doesn’t matter, Aaron. Please just go? For me?” He tries to say no, but she gives him her begging eyes and he really can’t. He can never say no to Theodosia. “I’m not promising anything,” he answers after a drawn out time, and then she’s grinning at him. “Aaron, I swear I’ll be fine without you. We can spend Christmas together, yeah?” Aaron can’t help smiling back. He nods. “Yeah. We will.” She gives a happy little jump, her hands in fists and waving in front of her chest. “Promise you’ll fill me in when you get back?”

“I’m still not sure if I’m going, Theo. But I’ll think about it.” He doesn’t want to think about it because he’s already fairly sure that he _does_ want to go. Hamilton’s invitation has become more and more inviting since he first received it, and Theodosia’s encouragement certainly isn’t hurting the cause. Still, he worries about being unwelcome. But with Theodosia smiling at him, his fears seem further away. He rolls his eyes, his mouth lifting into a weak smile. Theodosia nods as if she understands, and slaps him on the back. “I’m gonna go work in the back again. Finish up this shift, and you’re free until Sunday.” She pulls back and pokes the end of his nose. “Please have a good time for me?” Aaron nods obediently. He really can’t say no to Theodosia. She heads back into the kitchen, leaving Aaron alone up front. He pulls his gloves on and goes back to creating twirly golden banners, his mind significantly clearer.

The rest of his day passes in a blur. He works, handling customers for the most part but occasionally stepping to the side and working on the cake. Theodosia comes out to help him from time to time, but she mostly busies herself in the back. Her presence is mostly reduced to the sound of pots and pans crashing and then a harshly whispered swear. When Aaron clocks out, Theodosia gives him a long hug and tells him to take care. He tells her the same, promises to call her no matter what his decision may be. She makes a point of erasing his scheduled work days off of the whiteboard in the back, spraying it until it drips away in colored streams of markers. Aaron finds himself a bit sad. He never really goes places without her, and he’ll miss her while he’s gone.

Aaron walks back to his dorm through a deadly quiet campus, but his head is loud and ringing. He’s backed into a corner now, because he only has two options. He can go to stay with Hamilton and his friends, or spend the next three days alone. He knows what he’s going to choose, but the way to make that decision for definite eludes him. Really, he knows what he has to do, he just doesn’t want to. Because likely, the best way to go about this is to text Hamilton. Aaron knows this, he understands it entirely, but still he hesitates. He tells himself that there _must_ be another way to handle it, but time and time again comes up empty-handed. He tries waiting for Hamilton to text him first, but the boy must be busy or have given up on him because nothing comes. He does anything to avoid sending Hamilton a text, as much as he’d love to get it over with. He cleans his room a bit, packs a bag to take if he ever gets the nerve to call. He winds up pacing when all of that is done, and when none of it helps him to work up the courage, he lays flat out on his bed, face down and sprawling.

Aaron wonders _why_ this is so difficult to do. He’s typically so cool and calm, and it’s fairly hard to get him tongue tied, but Hamilton can do it. Every time he considers calling or texting him, he thinks about Hamilton’s dark eyes and the warmth of his body and then his face heats up and his chest twists and he finds himself totally distracted. Aaron knows he’ll have to do it if he intends to go. Hamilton’s invitation is what’s gotten him here. It would make the most sense to call Hamilton. After all, Hamilton is the only one who still thinks he’s coming at all, after he rejected the offer at the bar. Aaron weighs his options, and then calls Lafayette instead.

“Hello?” Lafayette sounds tired, which is likely reasonable. Aaron glances at the clock beside his head, and it’s already nearing midnight. He must’ve spent the whole night worrying. Another reason he probably should have called Hamilton. The boy never seems to sleep. He clears his throat. “Hey. It’s uh- Aaron. Aaron Burr.” Already, he feels misplaced. He doesn’t even know what name to use to introduce himself. Just as he starts to wonder whether or not he should hang up and just stay home anyway, Lafayette gasps on the other end. “Burr! How very unexpected.” It sounds as if he’s woken up a bit, at least enough to be excited. Aaron lets out a sigh, relaxing a little.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Hamilton gave me your number.” Lafayette laughs, the sound slightly broken and staticy through the phone. “Of course he did. What’s up?” Aaron scratches as the back of his neck. “I was wondering if the invitation for tomorrow is still on the table.” Lafayette doesn’t respond for some time. Aaron feels his heart jackhammering against the inside of his chest. He can hear noise in the background, other voices laughing and talking. Even filtered through the receiver and maybe sixty miles, Hamilton’s voice is recognizable in the mess. Aaron bites at the skin around his fingernails. After far too long, Lafayette hums to acknowledge his question. Aaron lets out a breath he hadn’t realizes he was holding. “Yes, we’re definitely still on for tomorrow. Are you coming?”

“Yep,” Aaron responds, popping the word and squeezing his eyes shut. He supposes he has to now that he’s asked, and Lafayette sounds so excited. The noise on the other end is likely a cheer, but it’s hard to tell over the phone. “Good! Good. You can stay in my room, if you’d like. Alexander and Hercules have claimed the guest room, and the girls and Laurens have taken the living room.” Aaron feels himself blush at the idea. “Uh, I’m not sure if I’ll be staying the night or not. But, thanks for the offer.”

“Of course. Of course. Do you need the address?” Aaron shakes his head, though he knows Lafayette can’t see him. “No. Hamilton gave me that, too.”

“Ah, he really thinks ahead. Just like our Alexander, yes?”

“Yeah,” Aaron laughs out nervously, tapping his fingers on his own shoulder. He doesn’t like the way that Lafayette calling Hamilton ‘ _their_ Alexander’ made him feel, but mentioning that would be more than uncomfortable. Lafayette hums happily. “I look forward to seeing you, Aaron. I am sure Alexander does, too.” Aaron thinks about Hamilton and sucks in a breath between his teeth. “Actually, could you not tell him that I’m coming?” He isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t want Hamilton to know. Lafayette agrees immediately. “Oh yes. A surprise for him, no?”

“Yeah. A surprise.” Aaron clenches his hand into a fist. Thinking about Hamilton still gives him a floaty feeling that he can’t quite place. He hopes it will stop happening before he has to see him. “Anyway. I’ll see you in a few hours, mister Burr, sir.” Aaron can’t help the groan, and Lafayette laughs at him in a way that still manages to seem nice. “I’ve picked that up from Alexander. The rhyme is nice.”

“Nice,” Aaron repeats with a scoff, and Lafayette laughs again. “See you tomorrow, Burr.” There is a click as he hangs up, and just like that, Aaron is definitely roped into spending Thanksgiving with the revolutionary squad. He drops the phone and puts his face in his hands. Dear god.

-

Aaron leaves after noon has already come and gone. He’d considered leaving earlier, but he hadn’t woken up until ten and he wasn’t given a specific time to show up. He doesn’t have a car and can’t drive anyway, so he catches a cab all the way to Lafayette’s. It’s a long way out to go in a car with a dead-silent stranger, even longer with the holiday traffic, but he doesn’t give himself too much time to think about where he’s going or what he’s going to have to face. He tries to be excited about it instead, about showing up and surprising everyone. It’s much easier said than done.

He thinks he gets an alright deal on his cab fare, it seems reasonable for the distance, and he hops out with his bag clasped in a sweaty hand. He’s nervous, the most nervous he’s been in a while, and the _why_ of his nerves eludes him. He stands on the steps outside of Lafayette’s building for a long time, just staring up at the door. It’s downright intimidating to look at, and several times he’s tempted to duck his eyes and turn away, maybe even just start down the street and never come back. Several people passing in the street give him strange glances. He keeps staring up at the door, squeezing at the straps of his bag. He can hear them from outside, and it seems as if their celebration is already in full swing. He can’t quite make out Hamilton’s voice through the door, but he’s sure it’s there somewhere in the clutter of sound. Mostly, he can hear music, loud and bassy, vibrating the walls. He takes a deep breath, lifts one hand in a fist and knocks at the door.

The moment of nothingness that follows is one of the longest of Aaron’s life, but the door swings open. He feels his eyes widen as the room comes into view. He’s not sure who he expected to answer the door, but it certainly wasn’t Angelica, clinging to the door frame with one hand and a huge orange lip print on her cheek. She smiles at him, letting go of the wall to wrap her arms around his shoulders and practically jump on him. “Aaron Burr! Look who showed up!” She pulls back and holds him out at arm’s length. “It’s so good to see you, Junior,” she says, and Aaron cringes slightly. He forgets sometimes that Angelica has known him since they were both incredibly young, and so she knows all his old embarrassing nicknames. He manages to smile weakly. “It’s good to see you too, Angelica.”

“ _Junior_?” Hercules appears at the door beside her, leaning into the door and grinning. “Is that your nickname, Burr?” He doesn’t look so surprised that Aaron is there. Lafayette probably told him since he couldn’t tell Hamilton.

“Yeah, used to be.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, and Hercules seems to notice, his eyes widening. He steps back from the doorway, ushering Aaron in. “Come in, come in.” He claps his hand onto Aaron’s shoulder, steering him into the front room. “We’re just chilling for right now. Make yourself at home.” His hand moves away and he retreats to the kitchen, leaving Aaron to his own devices. He surveys the room. Beside Angelica and Hercules, he can see two girls on the couch playing Uno. He assumes those must be the other Schuylers, and he’s met them once or twice so it doesn’t take much guesswork to figure that out. Laurens is off in the corner of the room, slumped over in a beanbag chair. Lafayette is darting around the kitchen, the only assurance of his presence being his mumbled swears as he works. Everyone has drinks in their laps or in their hands. Hamilton is nowhere in sight.

Aaron dumps his bag on the floor next to the front door, looking around cautiously. He hasn’t quite decided what the right course of action would be, how to get himself into the party without disturbing them all. He supposes he could just jump in, but he knows he won’t. And then he doesn’t have to worry about it anymore, because Angelica is back on him, her arm looped around the back of his neck. “ _Guuuys_! Have you all met Aaron?”

“Sadly,” Laurens slurs from his side of the room, raising his bottle by the neck and swinging it loosely in his grip. There really isn’t much malice behind the comment. Angelica shakes a finger at him, tugging Aaron into the middle of the room. She’s surprisingly strong.

“Eliza, Peggy, this is Aaron Burr. Eliza, you’ve met him before.” She lifts her eyebrows at them, and they seem to understand whatever it is she’s saying. One of the two sets their cards down and grabs for Aaron’s hand, almost crushing it in her grip. Apparently, _all_ of the Schuylers are surprisingly strong. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m Peggy.” She blows a pink bubble, snaps it between her teeth before continuing. “So you’re the prodigy kid, huh?”

“If you want to call it that, then yes,” he answers, shaking her hand. She has the same nervous energy as Hamilton, but in a much more roped in way, like she knows how to control it. She nods vigorously. “Awesome. That means I’m almost as old as you.” Angelica collapses to the couch beside her, snorting. “Yeah right, Peg. You’re, what, three years old?”

“I’m _seventeen_ , and I’ve graduated high school. Eat my ass.” She shoves Angelica off of her, looking back to Aaron with a wide smile. “Sorry about that. You’re going into law, right? Super cool. I am too, actually.” Aaron raises his eyebrows, trying to convey his approval very calmly. “Really? What field?”

“Law _enforcement_ ,” she beams, pressing her fist to her chest. “I’ve already been to police academy, finished my first year. I’m doing basic fire fighting right now.” Aaron tries and likely fails to hide his surprise. Peggy is small, no taller than five feet, and it’s almost hilarious to imagine her fighting off criminals. Her eyes narrow deviously, and she pops her gum again. “Yeah. And once this semester is over, I’m getting a job at Princeton to replace some of your janky-ass security.” Aaron can only nod back in response, feeling his eyes widening. Hamilton should have been here to hear _that_ one. He'd be proud. Aaron gives his head a minuscule shake in response to the thought, tries to clear Hamilton out of it. He wishes Hamilton didn’t invade every conversation he has. Moreso, he’s still wondering where exactly he _is_.

“In fact- Here, gimme your phone.” Peggy really offers him no choice, just sticks her hand out and motions for him to place his phone in it. Aaron pauses. “What for?” She rolls her eyes, seemingly annoyed by his hesitation. Her motions become more rushed. “So you can text me when the protests go wrong. I’ll be there to fix whatever shit you all fuck up.” Aaron raises an eyebrow. He shakes his head and tries to tell her no, he’s not had a part in any of the protests nor will he ever, but he doesn’t get the chance to do so before Peggy is snatching his phone, typing into it and giggling down at the screen. Aaron closes his mouth slowly. He decides the argument that would follow him taking his phone back wouldn’t be worth it.

“Peggy, quit hogging him. Let Liza meet him, too.” Angelica grabs Peggy’s arm and tugs her down and out of Aaron’s line of sight, but not without a fight. Peggy tosses Aaron’s phone back onto his lap and goes down fists flying, Angelica tussling her to the floor. Just a moment after they leave the couch, the other girl moves in, offering her hand. “Elizabeth Schuyler. Pleasure to meet you.” Aaron takes her hand as well, shakes it. He remembers Eliza a little, but it’s been a few years since he met her. She’s a little calmer than her sisters, not breaking his hand in her grip. It’s still fairly clear that she could if she so chose to. “Alex has been telling us all about you. You must have made _quite_ the impression on him.” She stops, laughing and shaking her head. Aaron feels his face heat up, hopes that none of them can tell. He tries not to imagine the things that Hamilton might have said about him. At least that means that he’s here after all.

“Do you mind me asking what you’re studying?” Aaron deflects quickly, desperate to turn the conversation from Hamilton. Eliza shakes her head, waving a hand. “No, no, not at all. I’m majoring in pre-veterinary science.” Aaron nods, sits beside her on the couch. “That’s very nice.” She nods back, her polite smile still in place, and again Aaron feels very awkward in the silence. He rubs at the back of his neck harshly. “And, I mean, I guess you know that I’m in pre-law.” She laughs at that, thank god, the sound light and sweet. “Yes, I know.”

“Aaron! You’ve arrived!” Aaron turns his head away from Eliza to see Lafayette hurrying out of the kitchen. He’s donning a frilly apron with the words ‘kiss the cook’ emblazoned on the front, and wiping his greasy hands down the front of it. It leaves hand-shaped stains streaked down it. He rushes across the room and sits on the open cushion next to Aaron, offering an elbow for him to shake. Aaron furrows his brows but takes it, shaking the man’s elbow up and down. Lafayette laughs, shaking his head. “I apologize for the dirty hands. I was trying to fix my oven.” He raises his hands and waggles his fingers in front of Aaron’s face, showing off the grime on him. “ _Someone_ in the house smashed into it on rollerskates the first night he was here.” Laurens whoops from his place on the beanbag. “Worth it! I’d do it again, Laf!” Lafayette sighs dramatically, laying his head against the back of the couch and placing his hand on his forehead. “In Laurens’ defense, Alexander bet him twenty dollars that he wouldn’t do it.”

“And my twenty dollars is my sweet, sweet victory,” Laurens burps, the sound muffled into the back of his hand. Lafayette rolls his eyes, pulling his hand off his forehead and leaving a smudge of black grease in it’s wake. “Anyway. I suppose I’ll be ordering pizza for our Thanksgiving dinner.” Peggy cheers from the floor, tossing her arms up as Angelica finally pins her down. “Pizza! Hooray!”

“You’re getting excited because you’re an eleven year old,” Eliza scoffs, and Peggy gasps in mock horror. “I’m literally months away from being an adult! Can y’all let me live?”

“Absolutely not,” Angelica responds, flicking the lip of her nose lightly. Peggy goes cross eyed and sticks her tongue out at her. Aaron watches this all go down, entirely amused. He’s surprising himself, actually having a good time and feeling like he fits in. Hercules comes back out of the kitchen, holding a new round of bottles between his hands. He smiles down at Aaron on the couch. “Perfect timing!” he smiles, handing a drink to everyone but Peggy, who he shakes his head at with narrowed eyes. She sticks her tongue out at him, too. Even Aaron takes one, just feeling the chill of it between his palms. Hercules cracks his drink open. “A toast to new friends, eh?” he asks, seemingly already knowing that everyone will agree. They all lift their bottles in response, Peggy just lifting an empty hand. They clink against each other, all taking their drinks. Aaron looks around the room again. Hamilton is still nowhere to be found.

“It really is nice to have you here, Aaron,” Angelica says, finally standing up from her place holding Peggy to the ground. “I missed hanging out with you, ya know? And Alex has been raving about the possibility of you showing up since we got here. I’m hoping that you actually being here’ll shut him up for a bit.” She piles onto the couch beside Eliza, throwing her legs across her lap. Aaron feels his face warm again. “He has?” he asks, his voice embarrassingly tight in his chest. Angelica rolls her eyes, taking another drink. “Oh yeah. He’s just been, ‘Burr this’, ‘Aaron that’, Aaron Burr, Aaron Burr, A-”

“Aaron Burr! Sir!”

Aaron thinks he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

They all follow the noise to the floor, and then Hamilton makes himself known, sitting up from the ground beside the couch. He moves so quickly that it’s startling and Eliza almost drops her bottle onto his head. Hamilton looks around the room, squinting into the light. He brushes his hair back out of his face. It’s come mostly loose from his hair tie. “Hold up,” he mumbles, steadying himself on the arm of the couch. “Sat up too fast.” He sits there for a moment, swaying in circles, and when he can raise his head his gaze finds Aaron’s immediately. He shows his smile, all teeth and entirely for him.

“Burr, you- You’re _here_!” He lets go of the couch and rises to his knees, shuffling across the floor and stopping in front of Aaron. He gets on his feet, shoves his way onto the couch between Aaron and Lafayette. “I can’t believe you’re _here_. I didn’t think that you would make it!” His voice is practically gushing. Aaron can almost feel Laurens’ eye roll from somewhere else in the room.

“To be sure, Hamilton,” Aaron answers smoothly, pretending that his heart isn’t fit to ram it’s way out of his chest. Hamilton is still warm and still smells nice, he feels himself tempted to lean into his warmth. He ignores the eyebrow raise he gets from Angelica over Hamilton’s shoulder. “I came to celebrate friendship and all that. Like you said.” The Schuylers all share a glance, and then hum in unison. Aaron ignores that too.

“Alex, since you’re up, we should show Aaron your freestyle rap.” Hercules crosses the room and sits on the floor next to Peggy, looking up at Hamilton expectantly. Aaron almost chokes on his drink. Hamilton doesn’t seem to notice either way. “Mm, not now, Herc. I need to get significantly more buzzed to do that.”

“Then have Burr freestyle!” Laurens yells from his spot in the corner, and Aaron swears that the boy is out to get him. The look that creeps onto Hercules face is downright devilish. “Yeeah,” he says slowly, nodding with wide eyes. “Yeah, Burr, you should freestyle for us.” Aaron shakes his head, waving his hands in front of him to dismiss it immediately. “I’m with Hamilton on this, shockingly enough. I’ll need to be far drunker than I am right now to do anything like that.” He lifts his bottle to his lips to make a point, and then draws it back when he realizes he may have been misunderstood. “Not that I’ll be doing it at all.”

“C’mon, Burr! Don’t go raining on our parade!” That’s Laurens again, and his words are all punctuated with breathy laughs. Hamilton laughs too, nods and pokes Aaron in the center of the chest. “Yeah, Burr. Let’s hear it.” He lays his head over on Aaron’s shoulder as if that’s a normal thing to be doing. Aaron tries to shift away, but can’t move much for Angelica and Eliza on his other side. He tucks his shoulders closer together in an effort to be smaller. “Let’s not,” he counters, shrugging his shoulder to try and get Hamilton off. He’s not successful in doing so.

“Spit a verse, Burr! You’ve got this!”

“I’ll do it once Hamilton does it,” he settles, eyeing Hercules and attempting to look threatening. Hercules frowns back, but doesn’t get his chance to respond because Lafayette does it for him. “You are the worst, Burr,” he laughs, reaching across Hamilton to give him a weak shove. That gets Hamilton’s head off of his shoulder. The relief is momentary, though, because Hamilton immediately places his hands on Aaron’s knee. Aaron feels the twisty heat in his gut stir again.

“Ignore them, anyway,” Hamilton says, his voice entirely too sweet. “I’m just glad you’re here.” He drums his fingers on Aaron’s leg. Aaron wishes he would stop, but at the same time, he never wants him to move away. “So, Angelica.” Aaron turns away from Hamilton, doing his best to ignore him. Angelica turns to him, raising an eyebrow. He nods toward the lip print on her cheek. “Who put that on you?”

“ _I_ did,” Hamilton responds proudly, pointing his thumb at his chest. Aaron turns to him with wide eyes. Of course he did. Hamilton laughs, then puckers his lips and winks. “I rock an orange lip, Burr. Things get crazy with the revolutionary squad.”

Aaron nods, a bit in a daze because now he’s thinking about what Hamilton would look like in lipstick. His mind is moving at a mile a minute, and Hamilton is looking at him in the way that he hates. Aaron is going to say something in response, though he isn’t sure exactly what, when there is a knock at the door, interrupting him.

“Pizza’s here!” Lafayette shoots off the couch, leaving an entire cushion empty. Hamilton still doesn’t move away. Lafayette turns around to see the group all so close together on the couch and scowls. “That means go sit together like a family. Shoo.” He waves his still greasy hands at them, fanning them off the couch. They all do so obediently, and Hercules coaxes them down to the floor to sit around a wooden table. Aaron wants to laugh. This would have been unthinkable a month ago, but these are the people he’s gathered around a table with. Hamilton squeezes up beside him again, forcing Aaron to scoot away. And again, it works very poorly. Lafayette comes back in, balancing a stack of pizza boxes on his open palm. “Dinner is served,” he sings, sliding the boxes off into the middle of the table. “Take as much as you’d like. And if anyone gets grease in my carpet, I’ll kill you.” He brushes his hands together as if clearing off dirt. They all stare back up at him, and he blows a kiss to the table. “Love you all!” Lafayette disappears into the next room, likely to wash his hands.

“I’m taking the first piece, chumps. Move it.” Peggy shoves her way closer to the table, all elbows and fire. Hercules pushes her back. “Shut up, are not.” Peggy blows another pink bubble, pops it in Hercules’ face. “Fight me.”

“Peggy, quit fighting people,” Eliza scolds, placing one fist on her hip in mock anger. “Yeah,” Angelica tacks on, “and you aren’t allowed to eat with gum in your mouth. It’s nasty.” Angelica yanks her back by the collar of her shirt, scowling. Peggy snaps her gum again but produces a wrapper from her pocket, spits it out into it. “You’re nasty,” she fires back, and Angelica just shrugs and points toward Eliza, who is already grabbing the first piece of pizza.

“It’s sweet how they argue, huh?” Aaron jolts back from the table at Hamilton’s voice, right in his ear. His breath is hot and puffing out onto his skin. Aaron shakes him away, trying not to shiver. “Yeah. I guess.” He pointedly wipes at his ear in the hopes that it’ll make Hamilton stop. Of course, it doesn’t. Instead, he sets his chin on Aaron’s shoulder, sighs. “Yeah. I’m glad I’ve got friends like you guys.” His eyes drift shut for a moment and he smiles. Aaron tries not to notice that Hamilton’s cheek is pressed against his, or how his stubble is scraping at his jaw, rubbing his cheek raw. He wants to move him away, he honestly does, but it feels impossible. Aaron is frozen in place. He closes his eyes and honestly considers praying, but when his eyes reopen Laurens is staring at them. He’s holding half a slice of pizza, glaring at them from behind it. Aaron feels his skin prickle. He jostles him again, and then Hamilton sits back up, casting a look at Aaron and taking a slice of pizza. His eyes are intense, to say the least. Aaron closes his own eyes, takes a long drink of his beer.

Lafayette comes back into the room and stands over the table, unable to squeeze in with everyone else around it. Aaron is the first to offer up his seat, perhaps too eagerly, because he gets strange glances from all of them. Either way, Lafayette accepts and Aaron gets to move away from him, gets to rest himself and his pounding heart. That is, until he realizes Hamilton is still looking at him. He’s licking around the neck of his bottle and staring, his eyes are dark and half lidded. Aaron chokes on nothing. He certainly hopes that Hamilton is drunk.

“I wanna dance,” Hamilton announces a long while later, standing from the table. “Herc, come dance with me.” Aaron watches Hamilton sway on his feet, and yeah, he’s at least tipsy. That eases Aaron’s mind a little, his heart slows down just a hair. Eliza jumps to her feet, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “I’ve got music. I’ll put on music. Gil, where’s your speaker?” Lafayette sighs, standing up from his place on the floor. “You all are like children,” he mumbles, shaking his head as he wraps his arm around Eliza’s shoulder and leads her to the speaker. Hercules stands up and bows over Hamilton’s hand, pulling him in towards his chest. Hamilton grins up at him, and then shoves him into the couch. Hercules falls over, narrowly missing crashing into Aaron. “You dick!” he yells back up at him, half laughing. Aaron rolls his eyes and stands up and away from the couch. He looks around the room for an out of the way place to sit. He finds one, in the corner near the bean bag. Laurens is there, too, sitting against the wall with his legs tucked up to his chest and nursing his drink. Aaron feels his own bottle, still cool in his hand. He’s still only partially through his first. Laurens is several drinks in, though, his hand tossed dramatically over his forehead. The music kicks in behind them, and Hamilton pulls Hercules back into his arms. They start around the room, holding each other and swaying. Aaron pulls his lips together tightly. Something painful tugs inside his gut. He ignores it, makes his way to the corner.

“Hey, Laurens.” Aaron walks toward the wall Laurens is leaning on. Laurens eyes him warily but doesn’t stop him when he gets close. “Hey.” He looks away again. Aaron follows his gaze back to the center of the room. Hamilton has changed partners now, and he’s dancing with Eliza. His hands are at her hips, holding gently, and they’re rotating slowly around the room. They’re both giggling, beaming, faces close together and smiling at each other. Aaron and Laurens let out twin sighs. Laurens cracks open another beer.

“Uh.” Aaron leans his back against the wall, gazing down at Laurens. “Do you mind me asking what’s up?” Aaron creases his brows together, gestures at the drink in Laurens’ hand and the five bottles already emptied beside him. “With all this?”

“Yeah, I mind _you_ asking.” Laurens shakes his head. “It’s not like I’m driving, you know?” He chokes up a laugh like it hurts, squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. Aaron looks him over carefully. His face is reddened and his hair is frizzed out in a halo around his head, mildly unkempt. Aaron wants to comfort him, but can tell very easily that Laurens wouldn’t like it if he did. Instead, he slides down the wall and onto the floor beside him. Laurens sets his bottle down on the floor unsteadily. “I dunno.” He looks at Aaron, his mouth twisted into a frown. “Thanks, Burr.” He says it like the words are poison in his mouth. Aaron accepts it anyway, because it’s probably the nicest thing Laurens has ever said to him.

“Do you wanna…” Aaron cuts off, frowning and looking back at Hamilton. The song has changed and this one is faster, lower and has more bass. Hamilton is bent over in front of Eliza, shouting encouragements back at her as she grinds up on him, laughing so hard that she’s tearing up. Aaron tears his eyes away as soon as he sees, looks back at Laurens. He doesn’t seem to have had the same sense as Aaron, and he’s still staring back at the two of them. His eyes are cloudy, darker than they were. Aaron thinks he might know what is going through the boy’s head. Still, he doesn’t want to make any assumptions. Instead, he just pulls himself along the floor, a little closer. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Mm.” Laurens shakes his head, picks his bottle back up. “No. I really don’t.” He traces the round opening of his bottle with a fingertip. He does this several times, staring down at it and listening to the low hum of the glass as he does. It’s not too long until he turns his head to meet Aaron’s gaze, eyebrows lowered. “Just stay over here? With me?” Aaron didn’t expect that at all, but he nods. “Of course.” He hesitates, but pats Laurens on the back gently. His shoulders sag under the touch, like it’s heavy and unbearable, but he doesn’t complain.

Hamilton is still dancing. The song flicks over again and again, either by just the passing of time or Peggy exclaiming, “This song sucks,” and changing it herself. Aaron watches, occasionally stealing a glance at Laurens beside him. Laurens is watching too, pressing his drink to his lips. Aaron can’t stop watching the way Hamilton moves; even tipsy, he’s perfectly on rhythm and dancing very well, actually. He catches Aaron looking at some points, winks back at him. Aaron feels his heart skip, then scolds himself for it.

“Can’t fucking believe it,” Laurens mutters, shaking his head and taking another drink. Aaron looks at him, and Laurens doesn’t even notice. “S’bullshit.”

“Laurens?” Aaron asks softly, and Laurens still doesn’t respond. He just shakes his head and keeps taking his drinks. Aaron’s own beer is getting warm between his palms, the bottle sweating and slicking his hands. Hamilton is rolling his hips in a circle, seemingly for no reason but to prove he can. Aaron wants to look away, but he can’t this time.

“All your music blows, Eliza. I don’t get how you’re dancing to this.” Peggy takes her sister's phone into her hand, flicking through the music. Eliza scoffs, tugs her hands out of Hamilton’s. “Fine then. You pick the music, you dance.” She gives Hamilton a little push towards Peggy. Her eyes go wide, she pops another bubble between her teeth. “No fuckin’ way. I can’t dance.”

“I can teach you,” Hamilton offers, holding his hands out to her. Peggy shakes her head, throwing her arms up in a surrender. She steps back from him. “Fine, you can pick the music, Liza. I’ll just shut my big mouth.”

“Nuh-uh.” Eliza flops backwards onto the couch. “I’m pooped. Someone take over for me.”

Hamilton looks around the room, his eyes narrowly missing the corner where Laurens and Aaron are still sitting. He pushes his bottom lip out in a pout. “Where’s Laf and Angelica? They haven’t danced with me yet.”

“I’m pretty sure Angelica and Hercules are braiding Lafayette’s hair,” Eliza sighs, closing her eyes. “Don’t quote me on that, though.” Aaron wonders how Hamilton isn’t tired yet. He’s been dancing for at least half an hour, and still he’s looking for someone else. Hamilton looks around again, and this time, his eyes meet Aaron’s and Aaron’s only. He smiles. Aaron feels his insides go weak, squirming within him.

“Burr,” he coos, starting across the room to him. “You know, I’ve heard you’re a pretty good dancer.” Aaron shakes his head, just a little. That’s all he can do. He moves closer to the wall, setting his drink down so he can cross his arms. “You’ve heard wrong.” Hamilton tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Because I don’t think I have. I think you can _dance_.”

“Too bad you’re not going to find out for sure.” Aaron’s voice is thick coming out of his mouth, hard to push up from his throat and even harder to wrap his tongue around. Hamilton claps his hands around Aaron’s forearms. “Come on. Just one song? Please?”

“No.” He shakes his head again, harder this time. “No way.” Aaron tells himself to pull his arms away from Hamilton, but he doesn’t. Hamilton’s hands are warm where they press into his skin.

“You’re making a mis- _taake_ ,” he sings, waggling his eyebrows down at him. Aaron can feel Laurens looking at him again. His face is alight with shame, likely among other things. “Let me go, Hamilton,” he tries one last time, but his voice is too small and soft to be even slightly convincing. He swallows hard. Hamilton tugs at him again. “Come on. What are you waiting for?” Aaron doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have an answer. He just blinks back at Hamilton and begins to accept his fate.

Hamilton grins. “Is that a yes, Aaron Burr?”

 _No_ , Aaron tells himself. Absolutely not. Still, Hamilton keeps staring at him with his stupid hope-filled eyes, all deep and dark and devastatingly enchanting. Aaron can’t look away. _No_ , he tells himself, because Laurens’ stare is burning a hole into his side, and Aaron would hate to squander this new bit of understanding between them. _No_ , Aaron tells himself, because he doesn’t want to hold Hamilton’s hands, let alone his hips, and sway around the room with him. _No_ , Aaron tells himself. “Yes,” his lips say, and then Hamilton is smiling wider, pulling him off the floor and into his arms, against his body.

“Someone pick a song for us,” Hamilton says, and his chest is pushed to Aaron’s tightly enough for him to feel the rumble as he speaks. Aaron takes in a deep breath to calm himself, but only succeeds in being pressed tighter against him. He holds his breath, determined to avoid the scent of Hamilton against him, boozy and warm, so distinctly him that it's dizzying. Aaron feels like he's going to pass out.

Peggy hops onto her feet again, picks Eliza’s phone back up. “I’ve got just the thing,” she says, her voice devious, and Aaron regrets every decision he’s made that lead him here. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he reopens them, Hamilton is smiling back at him. “Got it!” Peggy calls from behind him, and there’s only a moment of silence before the opening notes of Toxic by Britney Spears blare from the speakers. Hamilton laughs, the noise far too close to Aaron’s face. He blinks hard.

“Know how to tango?” Hamilton asks, his voice a whisper, and Aaron just nods at him dumbly. He does, but he doesn’t really want to do it with Hamilton. He wonders how exactly Hamilton plans to tango to Toxic, anyway. Hamilton doesn’t seem to mind or notice the hesitation, just wraps a hand around Aaron’s waist and doesn’t ask again. Really, though, what does Aaron expect him to say? Hamilton steadies his grip around Aaron’s waist, his hand gentle in the small of his back, and presses his left knee softly to Aaron’s, starts across the floor. Hamilton wasn’t necessarily wrong, because Aaron _can_ dance, fairly well, in fact. He took dance lessons when he was young and retained the knowledge his whole life. Aaron is a natural, really. He’s revealing this now, only because if he doesn’t, Hamilton will trip him up with his feet. It’s a necessary sacrifice. Hamilton is leading him through the dance fairly sloppily, tugging Aaron this way and that while Eliza cheers them on. He’s also holding Aaron in a way that makes it so he can’t turn away without his mouth touching Hamilton’s skin, which he does _not_ want, in any way, shape or form. He tries to look at Hamilton’s chin rather than his eyes, but his chin is too close to his lips. His lips, which are lightly parted, a tongue darting over them every so often to wet them. Aaron is forced to hold the gaze. 

“Not bad,” Hamilton comments as they begin moving, and hopefully in regards to Aaron’s dancing. The pair rotates slowly, and others are joining Eliza in watching them. Aaron hardly even registers that Hamilton has spoken. His mind is numb through and through, and Hamilton is breathing hard against him. His breath is thick and warm, and it’s coming against Aaron’s neck as he looks down to their feet. Aaron closes his eyes again.

“Having fun yet?” Hamilton laughs, his voice too loud and ringing in Aaron’s skull. It brings Aaron back to earth, and back to thinking about who exactly is holding him like this. He tries to shake his head because no, he’s _not_ , but he can’t move anything but his feet. Hamilton loosens his grip for a moment, and Aaron thinks he might be free. He pulls back as soon as he can, eyes wide and lungs begging for air. He hadn’t realized how warm the room has gotten. Maybe that’s just him. Hamilton clicks his tongue at him, shaking his head. “No way, you’re not out of it yet. Come back here, I want you to lead me.” Hamilton tugs Aaron’s hands back toward him, wraps one around his own waist. “Yeah, like that,” he encourages lowly, and Aaron’s entire body feels _hot_. He starts biting on the inside of his cheek, grinding his teeth down into it just for something to do other than think about Hamilton. The way he’s pressed up against him and how he’s moving so fluidly, how he’s looking down at Aaron with his stupidly dark eyes. Aaron wants to run away. He doesn’t.

“I can’t lead,” he lies, dumbly, knowing that he clearly can. He also knows that he just _needs_ to get his hand off of Hamilton’s waist. Hamilton narrows his eyes and tilts his head, but he lets Aaron pull his hands back, quickly, like he’s been burned by Hamilton’s skin. He seriously believes he might have been. “Alright, then,” Hamilton says, still giving him a questioning look. He takes Aaron’s hand back into his, and Aaron hopes he doesn’t realize how awfully sweaty his palms are. Hamilton’s other hand wraps back around his waist, and then he’s smiling, his eyes opening back up and sparkling. “I guess _I’ll_ just have to twirl _you_.”

“Wait, I-” Aaron doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Hamilton spins him around, catching him back in his grip once he’s facing the same way as Hamilton is. He pushes his front into Aaron’s back, his hips pressing hard against him. Hamilton’s nose is touching the back of his head. Aaron feels his face burning, he can’t bear to look out at the room but he can’t close his eyes anymore. He doesn’t know what to do. If the thought that Hamilton hugging him made him flustery, if _that_ made it hard to think, Aaron doesn’t have any idea of what to make of this. Hamilton twirls him back the other way, catching him incredibly close to his face. Someone behind him, maybe Hercules, hoots. “Get some!” says another voice, and that has to be Lafayette. Someone has their phone out and pointed at the pair, they’re laughing, and Aaron thinks that could be Peggy. Aaron can’t be sure, though. He can hardly tell which way is up or down. Hamilton’s presence is entirely throwing him. And Hamilton-- Hamilton is getting closer. Every time they move, he’s craning his neck downward a little more, getting right in Aaron’s face. He must be doing it on purpose. Aaron’s throat is tight, he can’t tell him to stop. He isn’t entirely sure he wants him to stop.

“Hold on tight,” Hamilton instructs, and Aaron does as he asks without arguing, digging his fingers hard into Hamilton’s shoulder. It surprises both of them, really, but Hamilton doesn’t waste time asking for an explanation as to why he’s decided to listen now. He moves his hand up Aaron’s back, closer to the center, accidentally tugging his shirt up in the process. Aaron feels the air on his back, like his skin is hyper-sensitive. He bites down on his lip harder. Hamilton’s feet stop moving and they almost stumble down, but then they’re ducking towards the floor. Hamilton is dipping him, holding him up with just one arm. And that arm is shaking, nearly faltering under the weight, but the two of them are staying up. Hamilton follows him down, his face is too close. He’s too close but still getting closer, and the amount of ceiling that Aaron can see gets smaller and smaller until his entire world is Hamilton’s face, and then only the top half and then only the bridge of his nose. Aaron tries to breathe, but all the air around him is vacuumed away. Aaron stares helplessly. He isn’t entirely sure he wants him to stop.

Aaron stumbles backwards, out of Hamilton’s arms and into the empty space of the room. He takes a moment to just stand there, astounded that cool air still exists in the world. It’s like he’s been trapped inside a fire for hours. He looks out at the rest of the room, and the room looks back. They’ve all turned their attention to him, all confused eyes and furrowed brows. He turns back to Hamilton, who has stood himself up straight and is looking at him with a similar expression. He stops looking before Hamilton can ask any questions. Finally, Aaron’s wandering gaze finds Laurens, still sitting in the corner with his knees to his chest and a beer bottle in his hand. When he notices Aaron looking, he turns away.

“I, uh.” Aaron starts talking, but is unsure of what he plans on saying. He keeps taking in air, listening to the music carry on. The song still isn’t over. It hasn’t even been four minutes.

“I’m gonna. Gonna step outside. Need some.” Aaron tugs at his collar as if to emphasize his point. He isn’t sure of what he’s trying to accomplish, but still he registers his own voice in his ears, thinks it sounds stupid. No one stops him from talking. He kind of wishes they would. “Need some air.” He shakes his head, more to himself than any of them, and practically runs to the door. He slams it behind him, pressing his back to it. It’s cold outside and Aaron relishes in that, steps away from the door to hold his arms out. It’s snowing, actually, tiny flakes coming down from the sky. Aaron sighs, closes his eyes to really feel it fall onto him. It works, to some degree. The heat starts to melt away, his heart slows down. He feels almost normal, and then the sound of a door creaking behind him brings him back to attention. Hamilton is there, and he brings the heat back with him. Late fall melts away into summer in a second.

“Burr.” His voice is soft and undemanding, and somehow that’s _worse_ , worse than anything else could've been. Aaron swallows hard, drops his gaze to the top step where they’re both standing. They’re almost toe to toe. “Hamilton,” he answers, monotone. He hopes there’s nothing telling about his actions. He doesn’t even know what there is to tell.

“I just came out to check on you,” Hamilton continues, stepping up closer. “You kinda ran out just now, you know?” Aaron nods, then changes his mind and shakes his head. He steps back around Hamilton to get to the door. “I’m fine. Just give me- I’m fine.”

“Aaron. Hold on, just a second.” Aaron turns back to face him, but won’t meet his eye. He doesn’t think he can. “Look at me, please?” And he sounds so entirely gentle, so nice. Aaron really can’t help but look up for at least a second, and once he does, he’s hooked like a fish on a line. Hamilton’s eyes are doing the thing that they do when he thinks, the bit where they get unreadable. Aaron kind of likes it. When did he start to like it?

“Aaron…” Hamilton repeats, his voice very quiet, and he steps up closer. Aaron is trapped. He can’t step forward, he can’t step back, he can’t look away. There’s no way out.

“We should head back inside.” Aaron makes his voice loud, hopes it will jar Hamilton away. No such luck. Hamilton shakes his head minutely. “They won’t miss us for a few minutes. Let me talk to you.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Aaron tilts his face to the side to try and move further away. The door presses hard against his shoulder blades as he tries to shift away. Hamilton’s gaze follows him, almost hungrily. His tongue darts out over his lips, the point sharp and pink. “This.”

“Well. What is this?” Aaron blinks back at him, follows his eyes as they move around his face. Hamilton doesn’t say anything for a long time. Greatly out of character. When he does speak, he shifts closer again. His breath is even more uncomfortably warm out in the cold air. “Aaron…” he says again, and his eyes linger on Aaron’s lips. Aaron sucks in a sharp breath, holds it tight in his chest. “What do you want from me?”

“I want _this_ ,” he says, as if that’s any sort of answer. Likely, it is. Aaron shakes his head. “You’re drunk.” That’s not an answer either. Hamilton’s hand presses into the door beside Aaron’s head, palm open and flat on the wood. Aaron still can’t tear his gaze away. “I’m buzzed at best. Aaron, _please--_ ”

“Stop calling me Aaron.”

“Burr, fine, whoever you are. I want _you_. Please.”

That’s more than telling. Aaron wants to melt away into the snow by their feet.

“Stop doing that.” He’s not sure what it is that he wants him to stop doing. Hamilton laughs, but he’s still not smiling. His only expression is the one that Aaron’s never been able to track before, the only one that’s ever thrown him. And he gets it now. The faraway look in Hamilton’s eyes is _longing_. He hates it. He wants to hate it, at least. It’s easier said than done. “Again with the rules.” He laughs again, and there’s a glimmer in the depths of his eyes. Aaron could probably read it if he tried but he really doesn’t care to. Not when Hamilton is looking at him like that. Aaron manages to tear his gaze away, but then he can only look at his lips. He settles, looks back into his eyes. “Be specific, Aaron.” Hamilton’s tone would be teasing if it wasn’t so breathy.

“Stop-” Aaron doesn’t know how to finish his sentence, how to describe what he wants. Hamilton is looking at him like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. He doesn’t know how to put that into words. Hamilton probably does. “Stop.” His voice comes out almost a whimper. Hamilton doesn’t stop looking at him, anyway. “Tell me that you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.” Hamilton’s eyes are half-lidded, and only now does Aaron even register that their bodies are pressed together. Hamilton is just as overheated as he is, insanely warm considering the temperature outside. Aaron’s head spins. The breeze that blows by them turns hot almost instantly.

“I don't- I can't-” One of Hamilton’s hands is on his jaw. His fingers are soft and light against his skin. They’re cold, the only cold thing Aaron has felt in what feels like years. Aaron breaks off as he feels them, gives himself away to the sensation for a moment. He peels his eyelids back open when he realizes he’s closed his eyes. Hamilton is just slightly closer, smiling wickedly.

“ _We_ can't-” Hamilton is tilting his head, almost curiously. He’s not closing his eyes yet, they're not close enough to actually-- Aaron hesitates to put a name on it. To give it a name is to admit that this is happening. That this is happening, and he’s allowing it. They’re less than inches from each other. Aaron blinks back at him.

“I-” Hamilton’s eyes start to slip closed, his lips pursing. Aaron finally panics. He ducks away, heads for the street. His phone is out, in his hand, he's dialing, he’s calling for an Uber. It’s over. It’s over, it’s over, it’s over. He can breathe, now. He still doesn’t.

“Burr!” Hamilton’s voice is back to it’s regular tone behind him, grating and loud. It still makes Aaron’s heart speed up. He wonders when he became Burr again, when only seconds ago he was Aaron. He wonders what the distinction is. Either way, he doesn’t answer. Hamilton calls for him a few more times, but he ignores him. Finally, he hears the door close again. He chances a look back, and surely enough, the steps are empty. He’s alone. He closes his eyes.

His ride shows up within a reasonable amount of time, parks by the curb to let him in. He gives the driver the address to get him back to Princeton, asks if it’s alright for him to sleep during the ride. They say yes, and he closes his eyes like he intends to, but nothing comes of it. His heart still hasn’t slowed. His skin is still hot to the touch. He can’t stop thinking about Hamilton. He can’t stop thinking about his hands and his lips and his eyes. Hamilton, Hamilton tried to kiss him. Loud, annoying, overbearing, absolutely enticing Hamilton.

What has he done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> several things:  
> 1) i love theodosia  
> 2) i love peggy  
> 3) despite everything, i love john laurens, i want to help him, and he will get more character development in the next 2 chapters  
> long time no post. spoiler alert: im sad. still writin tho! also keep an eye out for my possibly-mostly-basically finished burrens fic real soon


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